Kyrie Eleison
by Dakoyone
Summary: A mad tyrant has risen to power within the city of Kirkwall, and the hand of oppression is ever tightening its grasp around her citizens. None feel the whip of cruelty more than the mages, Circle mage and apostate alike. Is there no one who will rise in defiance against it? Does no one possess the strength and will to stand up and fight?
1. 1: Kyrie Eleison

_Author's Note: So I was watching Disney's "Hunchback of Notre Dame" with my son when I suddenly found the inspiration to write a Dragon Age fanfic roughly based on the movie. I figured it'd be quick, a one-shot at least and five chapters at most, no big deal. One month, one week, and a grand total of ninety-nine pages later, we have...well, this._

_Although I have the story set in Kirkwall, this will be completely AU. There are no Wardens, no Blight, no Justice-possessed Anders, Meredith _was _the Knight-Commander, and Castilla from "Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker" is our Grand Cleric (because I simply couldn't write Elthina as I intended to write her). Amell has a completely different origins story than what Bioware had in mind, and she has never once stepped foot in Kinloch Hold. _

_Am I missing anything? I'm probably missing a lot of things given the amount of liberties I've taken in writing this monster. But this is why I'm really glad that it's FANFICTION! Yay for fanfictiony goodness! The story is complete, by the way. I just need to review and edit it. Chapters will be posted promptly on a weekly basis, earlier if I'm feeling generous. Hah!_

_Disclaimer: There is no way in hell I'm ever going to publish this for profit. My ass would get sued sooooo badly. Much love to Bioware and the Dragon Age team for creating the original work!_

* * *

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 1: Kyrie Eleison

"We do good work," Varric beamed, petting Bianca lovingly. "Well, that is to say, _I _do good work. You ladies are getting sloppy in your old age."

The darker of said ladies huffed and flicked her black locks over her shoulder, "Well, we can't all have automated crossbows, though...automated throwing daggers would be terribly convenient."

"Ooh!" The other lady exclaimed, "Triggered spell casting!" She clapped her hands gleefully, bouncing on her toes.

Varric clucked his tongue at the both of them, securing his beloved Bianca on his back and straightening the front of his jerkin, "Amell, you and I both know that you are trigger happy enough without the actual trigger, and Rivaini..."

Isabela had an odd gleam in her eye as she stared at Varric, or more specifically, at Varric's exposed and well-groomed chest. Solona Amell giggled and waved her hand over Isabela's distracted face, but the pirate's attention didn't waver. "Isabela, you're staring again."

The Queen of the Eastern Seas blinked and shook her head slightly, glancing between her mage friend and her fellow rogue, "What? I can't help it if I'm being seduced by Varric's chest hair."

"Perhaps one day I'll let you run your fingers through it." The dwarf rogue turned to gaze up, noting the subtle tints of morning twilight lightening the sky. "For now it's time for me to make the rounds. You ladies are on reconnaissance: Isabela on the docks, Amell on Lowtown streets. Oh, and Amell, take Anders with you."

Solona sputtered indignantly, "What? Why am I on the streets?"

Isabela sauntered up behind Solona, running her fingers lightly up the other woman's arms and pressing her soft curves against the mage's back, "Because, sweet thing, you play shy and demure better than I do and attract more clients that way. You also have these amazing, massive...mm!" Reaching around, Isabela gave Solona's breasts a firm squeeze and nipped at her ear. Solona sighed but did little else, accustomed to being thus groped by the pirate.

Varric, who took the time to pick his ear with his pinky finger, added, "Also because the last time Isabela took the streets, she dragged the first 'client' into the nearest back alley and spicy shimmied him to the moon."

"He was cute! ...and he wasn't sayin no."

Varric chuckled again, "Well then! It was fun killing things with you, ladies! Time to go on with our day."

He and Isabela walked away together, both heading to the Hanged Man to requip themselves. Amell watched them leave, smiling at the banter between the two.

"Oh, come on, Varric..."

"No."

"Just one time. Let me run my fingers through just one..."

"For the last time, Rivaini, no!"

Shaking her head in amusement, Solona turned to head down into Darktown. She had been staying at Anders' clinic since arriving in Kirkwall, offering what little assistance she could. She never really studied spirit healing, but under Anders' instruction, she was able to learn the most basic spells. She was also in charge of gathering herbs for his potions but, due to her tendency to make volatile concoctions, was prohibited from actually brewing anything.

Into Darkdown she went, stopping to visit Tomwise, who handed her a satchel of elfroot and lyrium potions for Anders. With a skip and a bounce, Solona flung the clinic door wide open, startling the Darktown healer awake from where he slept hunched over at his desk, his hands stained with ink from writing his manifesto and from various herbs from grinding at the mortar.

"Good morning!" Solona greeted cheerily, dropping her things on a nearby cot and flouncing off to the changing area separated from the rest of the clinic by a folding screen.

"Void take you, Solona, it's too damn early for this," Anders grumbled, rubbing his face with his hands before realizing what he was doing. With an annoyed sigh, he stood and walked over to the washbasin. After a moment of hesitation, he dunked his entire face into the water and began scrubbing vigorously. He was nudged aside rather rudely as Solona hastily scrubbed at her own arms and face, washing off the dried blood and bits of human innards that she had accumulated from the previous night. Anders, now thoroughly put off by her behavior, turned to snap at her but immediately shut his mouth with an audible click as he noticed her attire...or rather, lack thereof. "Did...I miss something?" He was barely able to tear his gaze from her body, covered only in a sheet of linen, a rather short sheet of linen, knotted above her unbound chest.

"Reconnaissance today," Solona explained, dabbing two drops of scented oil on the back of her neck and on the underside of her wrists before sweeping her long raven hair up against her head, pinning it in place. "Streetwork."

Without warning, she breezed past him, unknotting the sheet as she went, stepping behind the screen again in nothing but her smalls. Anders pressed a palm against his eyes, willing his body temperature lower from its uncomfortably aroused height. It's not that he had never seen a naked woman before. He's had plenty of experience in that regard. He was simply uncomfortable with turning an inappropriate eye toward an exposed, battlemagic-wielding, and overall deadly woman...like Solona Amell. Wait... "Streetwork? You?"

A sigh was heard behind the screen, along with the rustling of silk and bells. "Varric's idea," she grumbled, "Apparently Isabela's idea of streetwork is less about gathering information and more about deflowering innocent passersby."

"Sounds like her. Streetwork though? I probably should tag along then."

Solona hummed, "Varric thought so too." She emerged from behind the screen, wearing a red-stained peasant top that was pressed tight against her torso by a black bodice, exaggerating her cleavage significantly. Her skirt was simple, long and heavy, overlaid with a dark scarf tied at the hip, bells decorating the hem, swaying in time with her hips. "Lace me up?" she asked, turning her back to him.

Anders sighed heavily but picked up the strings and pulled them taut. "Don't you think this is a bit much?"

Solona looked down and frowned at her dress, "It's the only thing I have. The last time Isabela came down here, she made sure I only had two sets of clothing: my robes and a set of 'apostitute' clothes that she had left specifically for me."

Anders chuckled lightly, "Yes, I can see how this once belonged to her." He finished the laces with a final tug and smoothed down the back of her hip scarf, patting her rump playfully, to which she responded with a squawk. "Come on then. All the good spots will be taken."

...which meant that there was plenty of room for them to set up since the sun had only just risen. The two apostates laid out an old, worn hat for collection, and Anders sat up on a barrel holding a wooden pipe, normal to the naked eye but riddled with enchantments that would allow even the unskilled to perform expertly, courtesy of their neighborhood friendly enchanter Sandal of course. Solona withdrew an old tambourine from within the folds of her skirt, running her thumb along the edge with practiced ease, watching the jingles roll in response to her touch.

And thus began a day of dance, music, and donation. It was not as light and fun as it seemed though. Anders' staff lay behind the barrels upon which he sat, easily accessible in a matter of seconds. The hip scarf that drew much attention as it jingled merrily along with Solona's undulating hips were lined with poisoned darts, and beneath the heavy skirt that she wore, a lethal assortment of throwing knives were strapped to her thighs. Clients knew never to speak directly to the two performers and to drop their request along with initial payment into the collection hat.

No one could have predicted the events that would happen that day, events that would turn their lives completely around and draw them into chaos.

"Templars," Anders muttered, low enough for only Solona's ears. She gave a subtle nod but continued dancing. The Chantry knights would often come through the area, and more often than not the street performers would be left alone. It usually was the new recruits who were ever bold and stupid enough to...

"Well now, you're a thing of beauty, that you are," a young male voice reached her ears. She turned her head to gaze over her shoulder, her body still locked in her movements, not bothered at all by the rude interruption. "Here I was about to head over to the Blooming Rose, but you'll do nicely."

_Ew,_ Solona thought. She threw an irritated glance at Anders who simply shrugged in response. They would not openly provoke the templars unless absolutely necessarily. Solona grit her teeth, forcing herself to grin and bear it for the time being.

"Wilmod, I don't think this one's a prostitute. Let's just get going," a second Templar spoke with a nervous edge to his voice. He glanced around warily, and Solona wondered if he thought the Knight-Commander would suddenly pop out of the shadows and reprimand them.

"Oh, come now, Keran. We're just going to have a little fun, beautiful," Wilmod stepped closer, and Solona instinctively reached under her hip scarf, fingering one of the small darts hidden there. "What woman wouldn't want to get in on some of this?" he asked, gesturing to himself.

Anders snorted, but no one seemed to notice. Meanwhile, a third Templar recruit picked up the collection hat and exclaimed at its contents, "Maker, this wench makes quite a bit of coin here. I bet there's enough to buy us a few pints."

"Hugh, let it go. Let's just leave them alone-" Keran pleaded with his fellow recruits, but his warning came too late as Solona rushed forward to snatch the hat away from Hugh.

"Oh ho! She's a feisty one," said Wilmod, making a grab for Solona's arm as Hugh tried to take the hat from her fingers.

From the corner of her eye, Solona caught sight of Anders reaching back for his staff and shook her head firmly. The less they revealed their magic, the better their chances of escape were. "Let me go," she bit out in warning.

She shuddered as she felt a cold nose press against the the hair at the back of her neck, "Such a sweet voice," Wilmod breathed deeply of her scent, "and pleasant smell. Andraste's Grace, is it? I wonder if you would taste as sweet as you sou-" An elbow came up and caught Wilmod in the nose at almost exactly the same time a booted foot swung up between Hugh's legs from behind. Anders withdrew from his attack and gathered his things before making a grab for Solona's hand, catching thin air instead as Solona was hauled back by a rough hand tangled in her hair, a scream ripping from her throat at the sting on her scalp. "You _bitch_! You'll pay for that!" Wilmod shrieked, blood flowing out from his nose and dripping off his chin. He shook her head violently, and Solona couldn't help the tears that sprung to her eyes at the pain.

Anders readied himself to lunge at the templar but was suddenly halted by an authoritative command, "Unhand her!" All eyes turned their attention to the man standing at the end of the street, his simple traveler's cloak revealing nothing of status or position.

"And who are you to tell us what to do?" Hugh yelled, his voice unnaturally high, a direct result of being kicked in his manly bits, no doubt. "We're Templars! We can do what we please!"

"_Hugh_," Keran whispered loudly, his tone restrained but also slightly hysterical, "shut your trap!"

The strange man narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, the sound of plate armor echoing ominously off the city walls. Wilmod jerked his hand out of Solona's hair, and she lost balance, falling ungracefully onto her hands and knees. Anders immediately took his place behind her, his hands clenching and unclenching, itching to grab his staff.

Together with Hugh, Wilmod stepped forward to intercept the stranger, drawing their swords and looking as intimidating as they could...which really wasn't saying much. Keran stood in the back, his palm smacking against his forehead at the idiotic display from his companions. "Right. Let's battle this out then, shall we?" Wilmod taunted, taking a very sloppy stance.

The stranger smirked at the two young men, "Myself against you and your friend? I hardly think that's fighting fair." He raised an arm to the side, his cloak parting slightly in the middle, just enough to reveal the sword of mercy engraved in the middle of his silverite chestplate, the downward point of the blade a clear indicator of his rank.

Solona would've found the situation incredibly amusing if it weren't for the fact that she and Anders were apostates, and this stranger was...

"K-Knight-Captain!"

There you go.

The two offending Templar recruits stood as still as statues upon reaching the same conclusion, their blanched faces glistening with fear-induced sweat. Chances are they were probably pissing themselves at that very moment. "You two," the Knight Captain began patiently, "will return to the Tower and report to your superior." Neither moved. "Now!" Wilmod fled the scene, running awkwardly in his armor, and Hugh shrieked like a little girl before running after him.

"And me, ser?" It was Keran. He was certainly a brave one.

The Knight-Captain gazed at him for a long moment before inclining his head, "I hail from Kinloch Hold in Ferelden, and I seek an audience with your Knight-Commander. You will accompany me to your Circle Tower."

"Certainly, ser, Knight-Captain ser."

Solona hoped her flinch wasn't visible as the Knight-Captain turned his attention upon her and Anders. The two had dared not moved through the entire exchange, hoping to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. She saw as the Knight-Captain eased his posture, to help calm her no doubt, and stepped forward to pick up the discarded collections hat from the ground, folding up the brim and handing it to her. She took it warily and held it against her chest before realizing that the man's hand was still outstretched, offering to help her off the ground. She hoped he didn't notice the trembling of her fingers as her hand rested in his while he pulled her up to her feet. His palm was rough, calloused from his sword, his grip strong and steady.

Anders' hand rested on her shoulder, reassuring in the presence of the Knight-Captain, and Solona dipped into a respectful curtsy, "Thank you, ser," she said in a small voice.

"A pleasure, my lady," he bowed over her hand before straightening and smiling pleasantly at her. "Perhaps we shall meet again."

Solona could only stare, words caught by the sudden lump in her throat. The Knight-Captain turned to Anders and offered a polite bow before turning on his heel and motioning for Keran to walk before him. Solona was still staring at the spot where he had just been standing when suddenly, a mantle of black feathers invaded her field of vision. She turned her eyes up sheepishly to Anders, who cast a scrutinizing gaze on her face. He apparently did not like what he saw there because he lifted his hand to flick her forehead with thumb and forefinger and scolded her with a simple, "No. Just...no."

.

.

The small boat tipped precariously from side to side as Knight-Captain, Templar recruit, and ferryman made their way across the channel. The foreboding sight of the Twins statues loomed closer as they neared the Tower, or the Gallows as the Kirkwallers knew it.

Cullen was grateful for Keran's assistance. Not only did the boy escort him to the city's Circle Tower, but he also gave a brief but rather disturbingly thorough explanation on how their Circle was run. After the previous Knight-Commander Meredith had gone mysteriously missing along the Wounded Coast, Ser Otto Alrik had taken up the mantle of Knight-Commander. Where Meredith was strict but just in her position, Alrik was almost ruthless in his treatment of the mages and paid little attention to the laws broken within his Templar ranks. Keran told the Knight-Captain that the Knight-Commander orders at least a dozen tortures, half a dozen deaths, and as many rites of tranquility as possible to be delivered by the day. There were hardly any mages left to be guarded; so the Templars were lax in their duties, leaving posts unattended and spending more time in town to indulge in personal pleasures.

Cullen mulled this information over in his mind as Keran led him up the stairs and down a long, narrow hallway, the younger man having grown silent since the boat had docked. Three knocks on the large, wooden door was met with silence, and Cullen watched as Keran glanced anxiously at him, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"I-if the Knight-Commander isn't here, he would likely be down in the dungeons..." he trailed off, the look in his eyes pleading with Cullen to not ask for an escort down to the dungeons.

"Calm yourself, recruit. Waiting is no trouble."

The reassurance in his words immediately affected the younger man, his posture relaxing instantly and the color returning to his face. "Yes, ser. Err...please follow me, ser."

Cullen was led to the very end of the hallway, which opened up to a room with a high ceiling. Vines and moss crept down from the open windows high up on the walls, and shafts of sunlight streamed in, giving the ancient tower a romantic quality. He turned a full circle, taking in his surroundings with a detached calm as Keran mumbled about fetching the Knight-Commander. After making sure the Knight-Captain had no other requests, the young recruit hastily excused himself, bowing politely and exiting the room.

With a heavy sigh, Cullen sat on a stone bench placed in one of the corners of the room, his hands resting lightly upon his lap, assuming a posture of meditation as he went over everything that he had seen and heard up until this point. It was true that he hailed from the Ferelden Circle of Magi, but his summons here was by request of friend at the Kirkwall Chantry. He had come under pretense of requesting a transfer of mages to the Kirkwall Gallows, Kinloch Hold being slightly overpopulated at the moment. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the sole reason for his presence here. After bringing the Chantry brother's concerns to the attention of Knight-Commander Greagoir, he had been ordered here to investigate the overall state of the Kirkwall Circle.

If the situation on the streets today and the news Keran had given him were any indication, things here were dire indeed. The Templars have no jurisdiction over the behavior of the citizenry of Kirkwall, and even then that woman was hardly breaking any city laws. Cullen furrowed his brows at the memory. There was something odd about that woman and her companion, something tugging at his instincts that he couldn't place his finger on. He remembered meeting her eyes, gold flecked amber clashing with steely grey, and seeing a certain fire there. _A fighter perhaps, _he thought, _and wise enough to avoid unnecessary bloodshed._ Then again, he had been adamant about staring only at her eyes and not at the ample cleavage displayed and those heaving..._Bad Templar,_ he shook his head of that particular line of thought and focused on the situation instead. He knew that if he had turned the corner a single moment later, those two recruits might've been killed.

The door burst open, and Cullen pulled himself up to his feet, standing at attention before a superior officer. His first impression of Knight-Commander Alrik was that of an agitated viper poised to attack. He was wiping blood off of gauntleted hands, clearly an act to keep Cullen off-balance, but Cullen knew better. His stance remained neutral, his hands resting calmly against his sides and his breathing even, but his eyes were bright, observing every movement, every nuance in his behavior.

"Knight-Captain," Alrik greeted with a slight bow, his voice soft but venomous, "I wasn't expecting guests. What may I do for you today?"

Cullen bowed and saluted him, as was respectful, "Knight-Commander Alrik, I am here on behalf of Knight-Commander Greagoir to request a transfer of mages into your custody." It was disturbing how an unholy light flashed behind Alrik's eyes and a hungry grin curled at the corner of his lips.

"Fascinating," Alrik hummed. "Exactly how many mages were you considering for the transfer?"

"A group of twenty, ser," Cullen responded evenly. After a brief moment, he added, "Sixteen will be coming directly from the Tower. The other four are apostates that had been recently apprehended."

There was no possible way he was imagining the evil glint to the other man's eye. Alrik seemed far too pleased with the news than Cullen was comfortable with. "Have these apostates met appropriate punishment for escaping the Circle?"

"Not that I am aware of, ser."

Alrik seemed to consider this information for a moment before turning and gesturing to Cullen, "Walk with me please, Knight-Captain."

Cullen followed Alrik out of the room and down the hallway. Alrik began droning on about the importance of keeping these mages on tight leashes, of the levels of discipline enforced to discourage rebellion against the Circle. They watched from the upper walkway as mage apprentices filed stiffly and silently into the inner courtyard to practice their spells.

Alrik glared at them, his lip curling in disgust, "And there they stand, bathing in the filth of their sin. Their existence is nothing but a blight upon this world, and we must do our part in keeping them contained, Knight-Captain. They are mindless dogs, and we are their masters. If they make to bite their master's hand, they must be put down immediately." A harsh scream echoed off the walls, and Cullen turned his attention toward its direction, not at all missing how the apprentices shifted to huddle together in stark fear. He could hardly believe the sound of the contented sigh and smile coming from Alrik, as if they sounds of torture were sweet music to his ears. He turned his smile toward the Knight Captain, who for his part kept his face expressionless, "Dogs, Knight Captain. Mad dogs..."

TBC


	2. 2: Et In Terra Pax

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 2: Et In Terra Pax

"So!" Varric clapped his hands together, gaining everyone's attention within a single moment. The Hanged Man was usually filled to capacity with random thugs, smugglers, city guards, nobles, merchants, templars, all sorts of people. Surface dwarves would sing their songs of ale and cheer. Norah would weave effortlessly between groping patrons. Corff would lean in closer to a customer, sharing the latest rumor on the street while pouring mug after mug of ale. That was all happening outside Varric's palatial suite however. Within Varric's fancy rooms, four companions sat around a long table, Varric at the head, sovereigns littering the space on the table in front of him. Isabela had a sewing needle stuck between her teeth, her fingers nimbly resecuring the venom darts that ran along the inner hem of Solona's hip scarf. Meanwhile Anders and Solona were sifting through the contents of their collection hat, separating coin from content. "Anything we should know about?"

"Well," Anders began, "we could..." he shuffled the loose scraps of vellum in his hands, "kill a noble, kill a noble, torture a noble for information before killing him, clear some thugs, thugs, retrieve a family heirloom, or find a missing cat." He frowned for a moment at the request before looking up at Varric, "Please say we're finding the cat."

Solona shrugged and added, "I'm in the mood to clear some thugs."

"Oh, sure!" Anders scoffed, "You _would_ be in the mood. Hoping your Templar Charming comes to save you again?"

Solona elbowed Anders harshly, but Isabela had already laid down her sewing, and Varric was already jotting down notes on a piece of parchment. "Oh?" Isabela purred, "has our little apostitute been smitten?"

"Hardly," Solona muttered into her mug.

"Amell, you do realize that if you keep details from me, I'll only make up a plot that could potentially be more embarrassing than anything you'd ever admit to."

Solona sighed into her drink before setting it down. "Nothing really happened. Some Templar recruits were bothering us, and he stepped in just before we could seriously maim anyone. That's it," she stated with a finality that warned anyone against continuing the story.

Unfortunately for her, Anders was hardly threatened, "Mmhmm? And there was no instant connection between the two of you when your eyes met while he swept you off your feet...?"

"He did not...there was no..." Solona sputtered, "I ne-argh! Sod it!" She pushed back from her chair, nearly tipping it over, and stomped angrily from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Isabela tsked and resumed her sewing, "Such dramatics. This is precisely why I myself would never fall into the whims of romance."

"'Realizing the extent of her love for the dashing Templar, Amell flung wide her doors and flew out into the night, eager to be reunited with her one true love'," Varric pursed his lips, "Not too over the top?"

"You might want to tone it down just a little."

Solona had no idea where she was going. She just needed to be away from her constantly nagging friends, needed space to breathe. Maker knew they were only teasing, but somehow this matter about her and a Templar she didn't even know bothered her terribly. She would be a fool to think that he wasn't attractive. From a single smile directed at her alone, he nearly rendered her completely speechless. _Oh Maker, _she groaned, _I don't even know his name_. No, wait. That shouldn't matter. She would likely never see him again, and he would never hear from her, and there was absolutely no such thing as love at first sight.

Not a chance.

No.

"An' what's a pretty li'l thing like you doin' wand'rin' the streets at this time of night?"

Solona sighed. Thugs. Of course.

She turned her head to assess the situation, counting ten armed and armored men in all. _A hero is only as good as his weapon[1], and I have, _she glanced down at her attire_, a collection of pointy knives concealed under whore rags._ Isabela was still working on reinforcing the hip scarf; so death by poison was clearly out of the question. She couldn't see herself leaving the scene without a scratch, and that irked her...unless...

"Now, gentlemen," Solona purred, running her fingers along the column of her throat and across the tops of her exposed breasts, "surely we needn't make such a public display." She turned slowly with a deliberate sway to her hips, a single finger beckoning them to follow her as she stepped into a darkened alley. _Like moths to a flame_, she grinned in the shadows as they all heeded her siren's call. One by one, they descended into the darkness after her, and one by one, she slit their throats with little effort, the blood gushing from their necks silencing any protests they might've had about dying. Satisfied with her handiwork, Solona hummed lightly while wiping the blood on her dagger off the tunic of a random dead man and stepped back out into the dim light of the street lampposts. No sooner had she revealed herself when a dozen more thugs leapt out of hiding, surrounding her.

To say that she was irritated was an understatement. Solona was dirty, moody, tired, and not nearly drunk enough to deal with ruffians without her magic. She let her consciousness dip into the Fade, drawing from the well of raw power that she normally concealed. Her palms crackled with energy, her entire being infused with the euphoric feeling of invulnerability. It was glorious.

"Alright then. Who wants to die first?" She gave them no time to respond, immediately flinging a spell toward the men closest to her, paralyzing them instantly. She gathered more power, sending it into another frightened group in the form of lightning strikes. Oh, how she missed this, magic at her fingertips. It was heady. It was orgasmic. It was absolutely...

...being wrenched away from her in a single breath. Her knees buckled and she collapsed, agonizing pain pressing in on her from all sides. She hardly heard the sound of combat, steel clashing against steel. It took all of her strength to simply lie on the street with her teeth clenched.

There was a moment of blessed silence before she found herself hauled up like a sack of potatoes and deposited on her arse in a dark corner of the street.

"Daft woman! What were you thinking exposing your magic like that? You're lucky it wasn't another Templar who found you," It was an male voice, but Solona couldn't place the speaker. Then again, with the brontos stampeding through her head, it was difficult to make anything out clearly at all.

"I was thinking..." she began, words coming slowly and slightly slurred, "that I like being alive." There was a muttered curse before she heard the sound of a bottle being unstoppered, the cold glass of a vial being pressed against her lips. _Lyrium. _She drank greedily, stealing the bottle from the stranger's hands and sucking down every last drop. After a moment, her head cleared, the pain faded, and she felt almost normal again. She blinked several times before glancing up at her rescuer. If it was that Knight-Captain from earlier, she'd laugh and curse the Maker and his cruel sense of humor. It wasn't the Knight-Captain. The Templar standing before her wore standard issue armor. His dark fringe was nearly as dark as hers, and his brown eyes looked upon her without judgment...which was odd, coming from a Templar. "Should I know you?"

The man huffed and scratched the back of his head nervously, a habit that Solona shared, "You probably haven't heard of me. I've not done anything within the Order that warrants recognition." Solona remained silent. "My name is Carver Hawke. I have...heard of you and of what you do, and I need your help."

She studied the man standing in front of her before gazing behind him to survey the damage that he had left behind. _Mmm, thug guts. Lovely._ On one hand, he did save her life. On the other hand, she really, _really_ disliked being Smote. And...on the imaginary third hand, there was something about this Hawke that she found intriguing, almost familiar, and she wanted to figure it out. "This is not the place for discussion. We must not be seen walking together. Meet me at the Hanged Man."

Carver blinked as Solona suddenly disappeared from sight. He glanced around, trying to determine where she could've gone, not at all noticing the huge bird that stood perched upon a nearby crate.

Back at the Hanged Man, Isabela and Varric were arguing about...something. It didn't seem like the sort of conversation Solona felt comfortable intruding on as she alighted on the transom, the flap of her wings near silent against the background ambiance. Her head tilted this way and that, piercing hunter eyes casting out for a place to change back.

"I shit you not, Rivaini, it was this big!"

Anders was reading one of the books Varric had lying around...or he seemed to be anyway. His eyes never left the same spot on the page, and his head was tilted in an unconscious effort to listen in on the conversation.

"There's no way," Isabela protested, "Impossible! I've had hundreds of those in my hands, and they're never that size."

"Would I lie about something so critical?"

Anders finally snapped, slamming the book shut and glaring at the two rogues, "I can't stand it anymore-what are you two talking about?"

Varric and Isabela blinked at the frustrated apostate, but before Varric could respond, Solona emerged from the bedroom, straightening her skirts after her morph, "They were discussing knives, of course. Well, daggers, technically. I never remember the difference."

"Why?" Isabela leaned forward, pressing herself rather inappropriately against Anders' arm, "What do you think we were talking about?" Anders flushed a deep red and sputtered incoherently.

"You look like you've been busy," Varric commented, taking in Solona's bloodied appearance.

"You don't like it?" Solona twirled in place, "I'm thinking of starting a trend. By the way, feel free to cross out one of the requests for thug clearing. Oh, and Varric, I hope you don't mind, but I brought back a stray."

...Thus heralding the entrance of one Carver Hawke.

"Hey! I saw you at the Blooming Rose the other night," Isabela exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the now embarrassed Templar. She turned to Solona with a quirk of her lip, "Did he smite you too?"

Blinking up at Isabela, Solona replied, "Yes, he did, but most likely not in the way you're thinking." She saw Anders' troubled look at this and felt the light tingle of a diagnostic spell drift over her. Shaking her head slightly, she reassured him with a soft smile. "Now, hush. This one has a job for us."

Varric leaned forward, showing the young templar his undivided attention, "We're all ears, Junior."

Carver glanced over at Solona who gave an encouraging nod before taking a steadying breath, "It's my sister, sers. She was a mage at the Gallows, but just last week Alrik had her tortured, presumably for associating with apostates. She escaped through the underground passageways and has now claimed sanctuary within the Maker's House."

"Smart girl," Varric said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "The Knight-Commander can do nothing to her while she's under the Chantry's protection."

"So what seems to be the problem?" Solona asked gently.

"She is not well," everyone watched as gauntleted hands balled into angry fists. "The wounds inflicted from Alrik's torture devices are not healing properly; some have even begun to fester. Alrik had restricted any healers from entering the Chantry. The last I heard from Brother Sebastian, she's become too weak even to stand."

The others considered this news, each gazing at the wood grains of the table, but Solona Amell held his stare, something akin to outrage boiling beneath her veneer of calm, "Is your Chantry Brother permitted to leave the holy grounds?"

Carver shook his head in despair, "The Chantry has been closed off by order of the Knight-Commander. He has Templars posted at every corner. No one is allowed to enter or leave."

Silence lay heavy over the group, each person stewing in thought. Isabela was the first to speak, her lip curled up in a snarl, a dagger flashing angrily in the palm of her hand before she drove it deep into the tabletop, "We should just kill the bastard and be done with it."

"Unlucky for us, the Knight-Commander's nearly untouchable. He hardly ever leaves the Gallows, and when he does, he's surrounded by an impenetrable wall of Templars," Anders muttered darkly, his hands folded across his chest in clear dislike of the situation.

"The Satinalia Festival is next week," Varric began, lacing his fingers together and tapping them against his lip thoughtfully.

Isabela frowned, "I don't like that look, Varric. Last time you had that look, I ended up on a merchant boat halfway to Seheron with nothing but my smalls and some Qunari artifact." Anders snickered at the memory, and the pirate threw him a dirty look.

"Varric, you aren't thinking of breaking into the Chantry during the festival, are you?" Solona questioned cautiously.

The dwarf beamed at her in response, and Solona couldn't help but think of the million ways this could go turn out terribly bad for them. "The guards will be least vigilant while the entire city is celebrating around them. We can use the crowds to cover our trail..."

"A diversion."

...

"Yes, Junior. Glad to know you're still with us."[2]

.

.

The Hightown Market was busier than usual, the atmosphere brimming with barely contained energy in anticipation for the upcoming holiday. Merchants from lesser provinces rolled in on their carts, bearing silks and satins, decorated costumes, baubles, bangles, and beads. Noble and peasant mingled in the square, children weaving between stalls, cheeks and fingers sticky with sweet cream and taffy.

Cullen watched from his place under the awning of a merchant whose stall was crowded with youngsters begging for a taste of his famous Orlesian baked sweets. He had dressed down today, favoring a dark grey woolen tunic belted at the waist over sheepskin trousers. A cloaked man seated himself on the bench beside him, but Cullen kept staring straight ahead.

"You would make a horrible rogue, friend. Your posture gives much away," the stranger said with a chuckle. Realizing how stiffly he'd been holding himself at the other's presence, Cullen made an effort to relax his shoulders. "Never mind that. What news do you bring from the Gallows?"

"It's as you suspected. Alrik slaughters mages by the day while his subordinates run around headless with their frightened tails tucked between their legs," Cullen bit out, his lips thinning in anger. "How fares your charge?"

He saw the man clench his fists in his lap, his bright, blue eyes hardening with barely contained rage, "We're losing her. Her body can no longer fight the infection, and her fever is dangerously high. If we don't get a healer soon, she'll-" he ground his teeth together, fighting back the urge to lash out and draw attention to himself. "She's said things...in her delirium. What he's done to her, _Maker_..."

"We'll save her, Sebastian," Cullen said softly. "We'll save all of them, and we will bring Alrik to justice."

Sebastian scoffed at this, "Justice? If the woman you love suffered in both body and mind at the hands of a depraved demon, I doubt you'd simply sit by and allow the criminal to be carted away to face _lawful_ justice. No, ser Templar, that bastard will suffer as she has suffered, and in the end the tip of my arrow through his black heart will be the only mercy I grant him."

Cullen blinked incredulously at him, "As a Brother of the Chantry?"

"No," Sebastian rose from his seat turned to him, facing him fully for the first time, "as the Prince of Starkhaven." Cullen's jaw visibly dropped. Sebastian was right; he would make a terrible rogue. With a slight bow in his direction, Sebastian turned to disappear into the crowd but was suddenly halted by a hand on his arm.

"You seem to have forgotten something," Cullen, having regained his composure, pressed a small satchel into the Brother's hands. "For your lady friend."

A hint of something flashed behind bright, blue eyes, but it was instantly shuttered as Sebastian regained his composure, "I thank you, ser, for your kindness. Maker watch over you."

Cullen watched as the Chantry Brother, or was it the Prince of Starkhaven, maneuvered between bodies effortlessly, slipping around a corner that no doubt led back up to the Maker's House. His eyes narrowed as he thought of the potions he had left with the Prince. What little he could afford was not nearly enough to heal the mage, but hopefully it would help stabilize her condition.

His brows drew together in thought. The mage's recovery would be a single step in overthrowing Alrik's tyranny within the Circle. Even then that would only be if the mage consented to questioning. If what Sebastian said was true, if she was truly damaged in the way he implied...Cullen shook his head, wishing not to think on it any longer. He was already drawing wary glances as it was by standing there and glaring at nothing. It was about time he headed back...to...oh.

She wore a simple forest green linen dress, cut wide at the neck and tapered at the waist by delicate lacings along the sides. The flare of her hips were accentuated by the full skirt, and no...he was not staring at her generous but, thankfully, modestly covered bosom. The woman beside her said something that sent her into peals of unrestrained laughter, and her open smile was infectious as the duo passed by him, neither noticing his blatant staring. They wandered over to a stall nearby, and he saw her bounce on her toes and clap her hands gleefully as the other woman, whom he noticed on second glance was not wearing trousers of any sort, pointed at a painted mask...a rather attractive piece too, he admitted to himself. They spoke briefly with the vendor before heading to another stall, his eyes following their movement, specifically _her_ movement, as they shopped.

"That man has been staring at you since we arrived," Isabela whispered in her ear.

"Who-"

"Don't look!" she scolded. "Maker, you mages are shit at espionage."

Solona glared at her friend, "Well, what's he look like then?"

"Absolutely delicious." Isabela wetted her lips, shamelessly staring at the man like a mabari about to devour a veal bone. "Oh," Isabela perked, "he's headed this way." With the finesse of an expert pickpocket, she snatched up the hairpin Solona had been admiring and placed it in her outstretched hands, "Here. Hold this, and I will be...elsewhere."

Before Solona could protest, the pirate had already disappeared, leaving her standing there slack-jawed in front of an irritated vendor...and no coin purse.

"Take it or leave it lady. I ain't got all day."

She blinked several times at the vendor before realization dawned on her. "Oh. _Oh!_ I'm sorry, my friend had all of my..." she fumbled, hurriedly placing the delicate accessory back in it's display box.

"How much for it?"

She hadn't noticed the man coming up to stand right behind her, his soothing tenor ringing in familiar warning inside her head.

"Fifteen silver," the vendor responded gruffly. Solona didn't dare turn around, but she heard the shifting of material, _Wool_, she thought, and the sound of coins jingling. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she stiffened when she felt the man behind step closer within her personal space, reaching an arm around her to pay for the trinket. Suddenly, the delicate jeweled dragonfly hair piece was back in her hands, and she no idea when it was placed there. It was a simple piece, Solona noticed, one most ladies of nobility would not give a second glance to, greenstones making up the body of the insect, eyes of garnet and wings webbed with small quartz beads.

With a start, she realized that the stranger who had paid for it had been waiting patiently at her arm as she was lost in admiration. "I...I thank you, ser, but I couldn't possibly take this-" she floundered for words, turning to hand it back to the man. His warm chuckle washed over her, freezing her in place, and she glanced up meekly, her eyes trailing up his heavy, dark tunic, past the high collar at his neck, skimming the line of a strong, lightly stubbled jaw and pointed nose, and straight into a pair of amused eyes the rich hue of thick, dark honey. "Knight...Captain…"

The smile in his eyes dimmed so subtly that Solona thought she had just imagined it. "Just Cullen for today, lady."

Solona shook herself and dipped in an awkward curtsy, made even more humiliating by the ornament she still held in her hands as if in offering. Upon realizing this, she flushed a deep crimson and mentally kicked herself...twice, for good measure. "I appreciate the gesture," she said slowly for fear of stumbling over her words, "but you needn't have gone out of your way."

Cullen shrugged carelessly, as if it only seemed natural to buy trinkets for women whom he met only through diffusing potentially violent situations between them and brash recruits. A small sliver of jealousy curled up in the pit of her stomach at the thought that he might've shown the same chivalrous behavior toward _other_ women before, and she stamped it down viciously with the knowledge that he was a Templar. Being a Templar meant that he wouldn't openly engage in any casually flirtatious encounters and so couldn't possibly be a common occurrence...could it?

For his part, Cullen's mind seemed frozen in...wonder, or was it adoration...infatuation? The fact that his feet had moved of their own accord to stand behind her had barely registered, the heady scent of Andraste's Grace tickling his nose. It was only his strict Templar discipline that kept him from leaning closer and smelling her hair. Maker, what was wrong with him? Perhaps this was all just a very elaborate spell, and she was one of the possibly dozens of rogue apostates populating the city. He didn't feel affected by the energy of the Fade though. Besides what were the chances that out of all the citizens he finds being harassed by Templar recruits just looking for trouble, this one in particular would be an apostate? The thought alone was ridiculous. He probably shouldn't have laughed out loud at that moment...but then she would never have looked up at him, and he would never have wondered why he never noticed just how stunning she truly was.

It took him a moment to realize that she stood just as frozen as he, that she was just as flustered, if not more so, and he felt emboldened by this knowledge. With a reassuring smile, he took the dragonfly in hand and combed it back to sit securely above her loosely plaited hair. He then reached for her hand, bowing over it in very familiar way. "A gift, my lady," he said in a low voice, "It was a pleasure to see you again."

And with that, he turned and walked away...but not without tossing a roguish smirk back at her bewildered expression. _Oh, that is _cheating! she thought, her bemusement turning into an angry scowl before settling into a despairing frown, _I'm in so much trouble._

* * *

_References:_

_1: Quote from Philoctetes; Disney's "Hercules" _

_2:There was a .gif that I remember from "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" where the three hunters are in Gondor discussing the upcoming attack on Mordor. I haven't been able to find the .gif, but I do remember the dialogue:_

_Aragorn: Not for ourselves. But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves. _

_Legolas: A diversion._

_Eomer, Gimli, Aragorn, Gandalf: …_

_Aragorn: Yes, Legolas, glad to see you're still with us._


	3. 3: Pax Hominibus

_A/N: So trying to write/edit a story like this while my son is listening to songs from Thomas and Friends in the background is really, really difficult. Just throwing that out there._

* * *

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 3 Pax Hominibus

Later that evening, the Hanged Man found Solona and her companions sitting around one of the larger tables in the barroom, mugs of ale all of varying amounts, cards, and personal possessions all littering the surface. Varric was scratching idly at his beardless chin, looking not the least worried about his chances. Isabela was holding her own well enough as well. The two apostates, however, were throwing nervous glances left and right, Solona worrying her lower lip, Anders tugging and scratching around his left ear. It was also common knowledge that when Anders was uncomfortable with his hand, he tended to take long swallows of his ale every minute.

"Moment of truth, ladies," Varric announced. He flipped over his remaining cards, revealing a strong combination of two priestesses. Isabela cursed under her breath, her cards also quite good but not quite as good as Varric's. Solona frowned and showed them her mediocre Magician-Priest hand, not at all missing the irony of the pairing.

Anders sighed heavily, "This is terrible. I don't understand why none of you..." He threw down his hand, and all eyes widened as he revealed the strongest hand in the entire game, a Magician-Priestess pair, "called me on my bluff!" He crowed in victory, doing a little jig in place as he took in all of their shocked faces, not at all caring about the attention he was drawing from the other tables. "Ladies, please...one at a time[1]," he preened.

"Well I'll be damned, Blondie," Varric let out a full body laugh, "that was rather well-played."

Solona sighed, crossing her arms in a huff, "Andraste's knickerweasels, I never win at Diamondback."

Anders, still high on his epic victory, gave a mocking "Hee hee!" and tweaked her nose, causing her to frown and bat her hands childishly against his feather pauldrons.

A strange twinkle gleamed in Isabela's eye as she watched Solona. "So, kitten...lovely hair piece you have there."

Solona stiffened, fingers reaching up to brush against the dragonfly resting in her hair, "Y-yes," she stammered before remembering something and leveling a glare at Isabela in response, "no thanks to you."

Isabela sent her a toothy grin, "Oh, but it was thanks to me. So did you manage to get the man's name, or do I need to leave the two of you together again? Perhaps I should arrange a more...romantic setting next time? That was quite the chivalrous display earlier."

_His name is Cullen, _but she would never tell Isabela, who would simply taunt her with it at every opportunity. She felt entirely too uncomfortable under Isabela's laughing gaze and Varric and Anders' confused glances, and she felt the heat rise to her face from both the attention and from the memory stirred by Isabela's words. The warmth of his sunset gaze, the electrifying touch of his sword-calloused hand as he held hers...

"I think we lost her."

"Hmm?" Solona blinked, her mind coming back to the table and her companions...and wishing to the Fade that she had continued daydreaming instead. With a scowl on her face, she quickly changed the subject, "So...Satinalia?"

"'The dwarf quailed before Amell's pointed glare'..." Varric muttered, lacing his fingers together before him. "Right, Satinalia. I took the liberty of arranging something special for the event…"

Isabela drew a long, labored sigh, "It's that look again…"

"I've been in contact with several organizers of the year's festivities. The Knight-Commander will be in attendance during the opening day. He will be accompanied by a small contingent of Templars."

Anders shared a look with the mage next to him, "That's hardly reassuring." Solona nodded in agreement.

Varric tilted his head, acknowledging their concern, "According to Junior, Alrik has something planned that afternoon as well. He's unaware of the details, and I haven't had the chance to investigate further." He leaned forward, silently demanding everyone's attention, "Now, it's simple..."

.

.

.

"Simple, he says!" Solona ranted as she and Anders entered the clinic, slamming the door behind her so hard that the hinges creaked ominously. "Simple, my magical arse! How is my twirling around on a stage in front of nearly the _entire_ city of Kirkwall, and let us not forget the _Templars_ who will also be in attendance, going to help us break out a mage?" In an angry huff, she kicked the leg of a nearby cot, forgetting that they had that particular one bolted to the ground for more stability. Now she hopped around on one foot, cursing the Maker, Andraste, and the name of every Old God and elven pantheon she could remember.

Anders sat calmly at his desk, ignoring her little tantrum, even as she limped over and thrust her foot before his face, demanding that he fix it. He wasn't too enthusiastic over Varric's plan either, but at least he would just be playing his enchanted pipe in the background instead of flaunting certain womanly attributes enough to cause a distraction...And Maker knew just how distracting Solona's curves were.

"Why can't Isabela do it?" She muttered, standing in the middle of the room, her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. Tired lines marred her face, and Anders couldn't help but pity his friend. Indeed many times he found her childish disposition absolutely insufferable, especially that hardheadedness of hers that constantly drew their little group into sticky situations, but it was that same admirably stubborn will that got them out of trouble every time…especially him. He had lost count just how many times she'd pulled him out when he was in over his head.

"She's a rogue. She'll sneak into the Chantry better than you would. You'd stick out like a sore thumb," Anders explained...for the umpteenth time, but once more never hurt anyone. While discussing the strategy, she had pressed the fact that she could shapeshift into a bird (albeit a rather large bird) well enough, but she was forced to bite her cheek and glare at Varric when he pointed out that casting magic like that would only attract the attention of the Templars. She had forgotten that little bit of detail and sat there sulking for the rest of the meeting.

"It doesn't mean I have to be put on display," Solona sat on a cot with her knees tucked against her chest, looking very much like a little, lost child.

Anders took stock of his supplies, running down a mental list of items he needed. Solona had helped him gather quite a bit of deathroot throughout the week for his antitoxins. Deep mushroom was something he never seemed to be out of. _Elfroot_, he frowned, _why was the elfroot always gone[2]..._ "Care to do me a favor? It might help cool your head a bit," he called over his shoulder.

Solona glanced up, looking at him then at the shelf, "What do you need?"

"We're low on elfroot," Anders tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I'd check the Hightown market first to see if any of the foreign merchants carry the dried variety, but it looks like you'll have to do a full sweep through the coast again." He stepped behind a moldy curtain to the corner where he and Solona kept their personal effects. When he emerged, he was holding a large, woven basket with a small cutting knife and a red hooded herbalist smock.

Solona smirked upon seeing the items and purposely raised her voice in a petulant whine, "But there are wolves out there."

"You're a _dangerous apostate_, Solona," Anders mocked in response, dumping the articles haphazardly in her lap, "I'm sure you can handle it."

Solona, who was significantly calmer now that she was assigned a task, stepped off the cot with a laugh and a bounce and slipped on the worn garment, taking a moment to wrap her hair in a high bun secured against her head with several pins before settling the hood over it.[3] Satisfied with her work, she bent over to stamp her foot into an ugly pair of work boots, probably made in Ferelden, and headed for the door. "Don't wait up!" she called back at Anders, who had settled himself behind the mortar, grinding the deathroot they had hung out to dry earlier that week. He gave a brief nod but remained focused on his work.

Solona made her way briskly through Darktown, steering clear of a group of thugs huddled around a small fire. She ran up the tall flight of stairs up to Lowtown, skipping two steps at a time, passing the moving pulley loaded with crates transported from the docks. She barely hesitated in front of the Hanged Man, wishing to see neither Isabela nor Varric at the moment. Her steps up to the Hightown area were normally light and quick, and she cursed her heavy boots for their inconvenience.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed a lone figure standing before a set of doors engraved with an image of two birds locked in combat...or was it an embrace? Solona could never remember. All she knew of the crest was what Isabela told her, which was to look at it from a certain angle, covering that one bit, and...there, _that_.

"Serah Hawke," she said in way of greeting, startling the templar from his musings.

"Lady Amell!" he chuckled, slightly embarrassed at being caught off-guard, "Forgive me. I was distracted."

Solona raised an eyebrow in bemusement as she drew closer, curious at his use of her family name as well as the title that she clearly did not fit. Perhaps it was because they were in public that he addressed her so formally...not to mention above her station. Her voice took on a teasing lilt, "Is vigilance not one of the finer traits of a respectable Templar?"

"That is true, lady," the smile he gave was strained, and for a moment, Solona saw the face of a man bearing too many burdens, embittered by certain injustices dealt by society, "I must not be a very respectable Templar then." It was a quiet statement, almost too low for even her ears, and it saddened her. She remained silent, not quite knowing what to say, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. After a long breath's wait, Carver straightened with a sigh and smiled at her again, "Would like to come inside?"

"Inside?" Solona grew instantly wary, her eyes flickering from the Templar to the door.

"This mansion belongs to my family," Carver explained, and his gaze turned thoughtful, "and I believe there may be something here of interest to you."

Solona stood rooted to the spot. The survival instincts as a mage that she had spent years honing to a point were urging her to steer clear of this Templar and to disregard anything he had to say, and she felt the natural inclination to heed the call of flight. However something had been nagging her in the back of her mind for the longest time now since meeting him, something pressing her to satisfy the strange but oddly familiar curiosity surrounding the man.

Carver sensed the resolution in her eyes and nodded, withdrawing a large, brass key from a pouch at his side and stepping toward the door. It opened with a loud creak, swinging widely on rusty hinges. Cobwebs drifted down from the top of the doorway, leaning inwards as a cool draft breezed into the empty house. Every sound was amplified as the two stepped through the foyer and into the main hall. Solona noticed the old fireplace and, with a flick of her wrist, summoned a bright, cheery flame. Carver stood beside her, gazing into the fire like he was thinking back on a fond yet somehow painful memory.

The tables and chairs had been covered in long white sheets, and a thick layer of dust lay undisturbed upon the mantelpiece and bannister. Solona peeked into another room, the library by the looks of it, and lit the fireplace there as well. She folded her arms, a finger tapping her jaw thoughtfully, as she considered a decorative wall piece, a silverite shield emblazoned with the same crest she remembered from the front door.

Carver's voice sounded, echoing loudly across the wide hall, and she turned to find him staring at the piece as well, "I had always found the symbol to be quite interesting."

Isabela's depraved perspective of the crest immediately came to mind, and she found herself fumbling for words, "It is beautiful in its symmetry, two birds locked in combat or...whatever."

"It was significantly altered after my sister took repossession of the estate. Before, it was simply an eagle standing upright with wings outstretched, readying for flight. Now I've been told that the bird on the left is the eagle and that the bird on the right is a...hawk."

He looked at her then, his eyes indecipherable, and Solona frowned, feeling like there was a point he was trying to make and absolutely hating his evasiveness , "What are you getting at?"

Her mentor once told her of the power of names, how the name of a mage can greatly influence the control and strength of the magic they choose to harness. It was why Morrigan favored the shift into the form of a crow and herself as an eagle[4], why Morrigan controlled the magical aura of death while she commanded the natural elements...specifically favoring the energy of wind and storm. The fact that Carver would mention the eagle and would indirectly reference it to her...it couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

"Before she had returned to the Maker's embrace, Aunt Revka spoke often of a child that had been lost to her," Solona stiffened visibly, the mention of _that_ name casting wide open the doors to memories she long thought were sealed forever. "The child showed signs of magical talent in her sixth year, and to preserve the honor of the family line, the child was taken from her. Aunt Revka eventually succumbed to madness and ended her own life, and little was known of the child afterward."

At this Solona snorted and folded her arms before her. She turned from him and gazed into the hearth, nearly forgotten scenes from a memory flashing unbidden behind her eyes. Her jaw clenched as she blew an agitated breath through her nose. "She ran," her eyes turned to Carver's, a hard glint making them appear like folded steel, "The child you mentioned...she ran. There was a boy with her and three Templars; they were being taken to the Gallows. The boy..." Here she swallowed thickly, "the boy was afraid; so the demon possessed him easily enough, almost as easily as how the Templars ran him through almost instantly. So I ran. If it hadn't been for..." Her throat closed up at the thought. Her two mentors, Morrigan and Flemeth had left long ago, and where they went she could not follow. She shook her head, dispelling all of her depressing thoughts in an instant. "So, _cousin_ then, is it? It sounds funny."

"I don't doubt it," Carver grinned easily as if completely unperturbed by these revelations, a feat which Solona found herself slightly jealous of. "It had been weighing on my mind throughout the week, wondering whether or not to tell you of our family lineage. Now that you are aware that this belongs to you as much as it does to me," he said, gesturing to the place, "I suppose...I guess I'd like to know my cousin better."

Solona narrowed her eyes, taking a moment to consider his words. He had grown up around their family, around other Amells, while she usually had to fend for herself under strict and often impersonal guidance. It made sense that he would seek her out, to forge a familial bond when there was no one else left. However, for her...as much as she tried to relate to this person before her, to this mansion she stood within, she simply couldn't connect.

...not that she would tell him that.

She knew that hopeful look he was giving her, had worn it a few times herself though for different reasons. She would indulge him for now, but that was all she could promise. "That would be nice," she smiled, and her heart twisted a little at his boyishly beaming face.

They left the estate soon after and found themselves on the streets of Hightown again, walking side by side toward the market. Carver was chatting animatedly; Solona's tone remained guarded, but for now, it was enough.

.

.

Cullen swore under his breath as he left the Chantry. He hadn't realized just how restrictive the place was with Templars at every door and around every corner. It was a nightmare. Back at the Gallows, he had overheard snippets of conversation between Alrik and his Knight Captain, Ser Karras, discussing the upcoming holiday and of the "special event" they had planned. He had paled then, his entire body stiffening in shock, when he realized what exactly they had in store, and before he realized it, he had donned his traveler's cloak and made for the Chantry with haste. Sebastian had to be warned, to find some way to take his mage away from the city.

But those thrice damned Templar guards…!

He turned a corner, his rage intensifying with each step, when he saw what appeared to be a couple exiting one of the Hightown mansions. He initially paid no heed to it, but then he heard a voice.._her_ voice, to be exact, and he quickly spun to hide behind a stone column. _Maker, what is _wrong _with me? This is absurd_, he scolded himself for behaving like some silly love struck youth, but he only dared to peek around it anyway, trying to catch the two as they walked, trying to determine what the man's relation was with her. Why did he care, anyway? He'd only seen the woman twice, and he never asked for her name. Granted he did buy a trinket for her, but she liked it. She really liked it. She was wearing it right then actually, the centerpiece among the other pins that held up her heavy tresses. Her red hood was drawn back, and he saw it shining in the daylight. _Maker, help me…_

"I should be calling you Carver now, shouldn't I?" Solona asked, only slightly uncomfortable with the informality. Family or not, it just seemed too casual.

The man shrugged, "If you like. I've grown accustomed to being called Hawke all the time. It really makes little difference."

Solona frowned thoughtfully, "Then I suppose I'll just call you Hawke for now, for the sake of maintaining appearances."

_Were they secret lovers?_ Cullen couldn't help the thought and the surge of jealousy that swept over him at that moment. _And Second Knight-Lieutenant Hawke?!That...that…_ It was difficult for him to conjure up reasonable hate for the man. He had only seen him twice around the Gallows and knew nothing of him otherwise. He followed them at a safe distance, close enough to hear their conversation but far enough to keep from attracting attention. Carver started talking about family, growing more excited with each passing second, and Cullen observed how his lady..._not_ his lady, relaxed little by little, her eyes softening as she spoke to him.

It was at that point when Cullen stopped trailing behind them, no longer wanting to be near either of them. He did wish to listen in more to what was being said but at the same time was afraid of what he might hear. _Like a blighted coward..._

He stood at the top of the steps leading down to the market, golden eyes gazing out at the bustling activity below but taking nothing in. With a heavy sigh, he turned to make his way back to the Gallows. He didn't hear her laughter, didn't see her punch the other man's shoulder playfully, and didn't hear her say the telling words, "Just because we're family doesn't mean I can't whip you!"

It was already several hours into the night when Solona returned to the clinic, her mud and sand caked boots dragging wearily across the dirty floor and her basket full of the needed herbs. Anders had fallen asleep at the desk again, face, hands, and clothes all stained with herb extracts, potions, ink, and..._that _stain was probably from patient spew. She stood there watching him for some time, thinking back on the last two years spent here at the clinic and then on the brief outing she had with Carver that day.

Despite her initial reservations, she found that she truly enjoyed his company. It was...odd but strangely exhilarating to be able to refer to someone as a blood relation. It was as if the barriers between strangers were somehow stripped away more easily with every new story of Carver and his sisters, stories about growing up with loving parents, of being little hellions for their nurses, of the trouble that seemed to follow them everywhere they went.

With that in mind, she considered her relationship with Anders, with Isabela and Varric and decided that they were all her family as well even if the relationship they shared was more than a little unconventional. Yes, they tended to be royal pains more often than not, especially with Varric and his oftentimes overbearing demands, but they were her royal pains...and apparently it was a common thing among family, if Carver's stories of his sisters were any indication. The people whom she shared food, drink, and laughter with were the same people whom she would suffer and shed her own blood for, if it ever came to that. This was what kinship meant, wasn't it?

She smiled softly and with light steps ducked behind the curtain to hang dry the elfroot she had collected. She rinsed her hands, arms, and neck in the small washbasin, promising herself a bath in the morning, and changed into a thick, oversized tunic and woolen leggings. The air chilled easily here, especially now with winter settling in. She pursed her lips together in thought, her gaze turning back to regard her fellow mage. Despite the rest he was getting now, Solona could clearly see the dark circles around his eyes. She rested a hand on his back and shook him gently.

"Anders?" she said softly, "Let's get you to bed."

The healer woke with a start, immediately turning to the door as if expecting patients. Instead he felt a gentle but insistent pull on his arm, and while still halfway in the Fade, he allowed himself to be pulled up and led away to the corner where his cot lay. Solona bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud as he stumbled forward out of her grasp and collapsed face down with a groan. She made sure to secure a sheet up to his shoulders before lying down on her own cot beside him. Carver was her cousin, and Anders, she thought, was a close brother...of sorts. Isabela was her exotically stunning scoundrel of sister, and Varric was their venerable older brother who made sure they stayed out of trouble...mostly.

She drifted off of with a smile, her dreams filled with scenes from her childhood, only this time Carver was there, and Anders, Isabela, and Varric. She even dreamed of sitting with Morrigan and of braiding each other's hair, which was absolutely bizarre given Morrigan herself would never indulge in something so trivially childish. But it was just a dream, and it was her dream.

That's all that mattered.

* * *

_References: _

_Heh heh heh...enter Morrigan and Flemeth._

_-So I went and looked up Diamondback and found that it's an actual game that was referenced in DA from a comic book series called "Cerebus the Aardvark" by Dave Sim. There are rules to the game, all of which can be found through Google. The internet is very, very great…*trails off*_

_1: "Ladies, please...one at a time" - T-Rex from "Dinosaur Comics" by Ryan North...because I love Dinosaur Comics_

_2: "Why is the rum always gone?" - Capt. Jack Sparrow; "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest"_

_3: "When he emerged...the hood over it", referencing the classic tale of "The Little Red Riding Hood"_

_4: Fun Facts: The name Amell means "power of an eagle" in German, according to several baby name websites, and Morrigan means "Great queen; nightmare queen". There's also this interesting little tidbit: "She is usually seen as a terrifying figure. She is associated with war and death on the battlefield, sometime appearing in the form of a carrion crow, premonitions of doom, and with cattle", courtesy of .com._

_Pretty neat, huh..._


	4. 4: Suscipe Deprecationem

_A/N: I'm so flattered by the reviews/favorites/follows I've received. Every time I get a notification, I'm all, "For me? ...Really? Wow...I mean, WOW!" So thank you all for sticking with my bouts of dementia. I'm really, really glad you like the story so far...though, you might hate me later. I don't know. I hope not. *bites nails*_

* * *

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 4: Suscipe Deprecationem

The city was alive. Kirkwallers, Free Marchers, Antivans, and Orlesians of all classes gathered in the Chantry square, the crowds going back as far as Bertrand's old office. Merchants had even set up their shops along the sides of the stairway leading down into Lowtown, waving handbills and showing off their wares. Everyone was costumed in bright festive colors, masks of all shapes and sizes were adorned with glitterdust and feathers. A wide, elevated stage was set up before the Chantry steps. Grand Cleric Callista herself was seated on one of the upper balconies of the holy building, flanked by several of the Chantry Mothers.

Solona took this all in from the small opening of her tent flap. She was dressed in a costume, likely of Isabela's choosing, that seemed to be made entirely out of silk scarves with sequins and tassels wrapped intricately around her arms and breasts, leaving her midriff bare. She loved the slitted skirt that accompanied the costume though, and there was a matching mask to complete the ensemble. Isabela, as was her way, had given it to her as a dare, thinking that she was too modest for such indecent displays...little knowing her past growing up with Morrigan. It was a beautiful costume regardless, and Solona was not uncomfortable wearing it. It was supposedly in the style of the Anderfels, the nomadic Orth People in The Wandering Hills known for their sacred dances[1]. She admittedly had never attempted such a dance, but she'd seen it performed before a long time ago with her mentors. The experience had been entrancing, and though she never considered herself to be an exceptional dancer, she hoped to be able to pull off a passable imitation today. Varric had, after all, asked her to "seduce the audience".

Isabela had plaited her hair earlier, wrapping it around her head and securing an ornate tiara upon her brow, gold chains and tassels hanging in her hair and framing her face. The pirate also pinned the dragonfly in the thick locks above Solona's left ear...in case they couldn't recognize her, or so she said. She fiddled with the edges of one of her arm scarves, suddenly extremely nervous for her performance. She had danced numerous times before, but those were done casually on the streets. Never before had she been required to entertain a crowd and certainly not a Satinalia crowd. She gazed out again, noticing that The Famous Broma Brothers appeared to be on their final act. Next would be an Orlesian ballet group followed by a performance by a local mime.

_Mimes_, she snorted.

There was a distinct rhythmic sound of clanking metal plates, and Solona watched as a company of Templars marched toward the stage, the sea of people parting before them in fear. In the middle of the group was an armored carriage, and as they came to a halt, Knight-Commander Alrik stepped out, making a show of waving to the crowd and bowing before the Grand Cleric and the Chantry. There was another Templar at his right hand, one whom Carver had described as Knight-Captain Karras, and on his left side was...oh, right. She had forgotten he was a Templar too. Unlike Alrik and Karras however, Cullen seemed uncomfortable, his eyes darting back and forth anxiously as if looking for someone. How peculiar...

A broad chest invaded her vision, and Solona blinked rapidly before looking up at Anders, dressed simply in a dark green tunic and grey leggings as well as thick scarves that wrapped around his neck and head after the fashion of the Orth. He certainly looked the part, being an Anders himself, "Are you ready? The mime's at the healer's. He claimed the Chantry gargoyles set him aflame."

They shared a brief laugh at the thought. "It seems the players are all in place. Ready or not, now is the time to act." Her stomach dropped, and Anders squeezed her shoulder, smiling reassuringly in response.

"Go on backstage then. I'll signal Varric and Isabela."

Her hands shook as she donned her mask. On a better day, she would've taken the time to admire the craftsmanship of the columbina piece, the blood red leather contrasting dangerously with the black feathers resting against the the sides of her head. At the moment, however, she was too damned nervous. A hush fell over the crowd as she stepped gracefully up on the stage. She swore she could hear the grinding of Templar teeth as she imagined their thoughts of "Such indecency!" repeating in their heads.

_Well then, _she thought, _that's about as distracted as they're going to get._ She wanted to laugh, but that'd ruin the effect.

The sharp 'ting' of finger cymbals echoed, and her dance began. It was slow at first, a controlled but deliberate and graceful sway of her hips in one direction followed by a flowing turn of her wrist. Every movement was heavily exaggerated, every angle precise. There was a slight tip of her chin and a wave of movement starting from her chest down to her waist and ending at her hips. A percussive rhythm sounded, and she picked up the tempo slightly, her body moving more fluidly than it had ever moved before. Her skin glistened with a light sweat as she worked her hips and chest, turning them in brisk rotations that captivated the eye. The melody of Anders' gasba joined in, and suddenly the dance was fast and forceful. All of her muscles were engaged, her body alternating in undulating hips, waist, chest, and back again. Her arms swayed slowly in contrast, mesmerizing in its slow, snake-like movements. The tassels on her costume were constantly agitated, the silks brushing over the skin of her waist at each pass, every sensation slowly bringing her to an unimaginably sensual high.

It all ended abruptly, the instruments building in tempo and dynamics before landing in a unanimous punch, and she stood arched in a backbend, arms reaching above her and her chest heaving from the exertion. The silence that came after was nearly deafening, and the approving roar that followed blew her away as she took a graceful bow and all but ran off the stage.

Anders met her at the bottom, slack jawed. "Careful, Anders, you'll catch flies," she teased, a euphoric contentment settling over her.

"That was...wow. I've never...we should visit these Orth People if all their dances are like that."

Solona gave a sharp bark of laughter before pulling him behind her, "Let's go find our favorite dwarf."

It didn't take very long. Varric and Isabela were inside Solona's tent, the pirate pacing around angrily, "She wasn't there. I couldn't find the Chantry brother either."

"What?" Anders hissed. Solona wasted no time in changing into her green robes and reworking her hair into a simple bun secured by her dragonfly pin. She had a very bad feeling that something was terribly wrong. A low murmur sounded from the crowd, and they all scrambled back out to see what happening, freezing in a mix of shock and outrage at the sight of a mage woman being dragged behind two Templars, who had her restrained with an iron collar attached to leashes which they used to pull her along. She collapsed onto her hands and knees several times, and each time she did, the templars yanked harshly at the ropes, jerking her mercilessly by her neck.

Everyone's attention shifted to Knight-Commander Alrik, who had stood then, a smile stretching his face from ear to ear as he addressed the crowd, "Good people of Kirkwall! On this Satinalia Day, we of the Templar Order are most pleased to provide the fool to be crowned!" Here he paused for effect, waiting for the cheers that never came. The crowd murmured in apprehension and disbelief as the mage was led up onto the stage, her thin dress worn and fraying, her hair shorn close to her head, eyes clouded and skin tinged with fever. She stood swaying on her feet as her Templar handlers fastened the ropes into the wooden planks. "This apostate is accused of leading a rebellion against the Circle Tower and has aided many mages in escaping. Let us, my dear citizens, make an example of her today." The first Smite he cast then was jarring enough to bring the frail mage to her knees. The second force a ragged scream from her mouth. The third...

"Right," Varric began, "new plan. We need another distraction. I'm on flash bombs. Rivaini, you get the mage. Blondie, you're healing. Amell, you stay out...of...Amell?" All three heads turned, staring at the space Solona was standing in only moments ago. A gasp and a cry from the people around them forced their attention back on stage. "Oh, nug pellets..."

To say Solona was angry would have been an understatement. Her aura crackled with barely contained rage as she stood between the captive mage and the Knight Commander, wild magic shining through her eyes with a vengeful glow. "Leave this woman alone," she demanded, her voice deceptively calm.

Alrik's bark of laughter echoed across the quiet square. No one dared to utter a single sound, all holding their breaths at this confrontation. "_Another _apostate! How glorious-"

"You have gone too far, Knight-Commander," Solona interrupted, her voice still dangerously soft but rising steadily, "You have shown the people the cruelty of your hand by torturing this defenseless mage, a mage that your Order has _sworn _to protect from the dangers of magic. Yet you would seek to harm them, to weaken their resolve against the demons that batter against their will. You would provoke them into possession and cut them down. And after you run out of mages, where will you go then to seek your sick perversions-"

"Silence, aposta-"

"_Justice_ for the mages of Kirkwall!" her eyes narrowed, and she spat at the Knight-Commander's feet, "...and against your _false _Order."

She did not turn when she heard her companions rushing up behind her, pushing past the two templars posted at the base of the platform. Isabela cut the prisoner's bonds, and Anders supported her weak body with one arm slung over his shoulders. Solona kept herself still even as the crowd began stirring restlessly, her eyes focused solely on Alrik, her posture held stiff, ready to strike at a moment's notice. She realized the significance of her words for what it was: a declaration of war, and she refused to back down.

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Isabela muttered to Solona, twirling her daggers between her fingers.

Cullen watched from his post, his hand resting on his sword hilt. Too many conflicting thoughts raced through his head, the image of _her_ dancing (it couldn't have been anyone else, especially after seeing the dragonfly pin he had gifted her), the mage that had been brought forth, the absence of Brother Sebastian, the relentless Smites delivered in succession, and _her_ stepping onto the platform, fearless in her defiance...absolutely beautiful... a mage. She stood no chance against the other Templars here, even with her friends backing her. There had to be some way to prevent the situation from escalating into complete chaos.

His eyes flicked up to the Chantry, and he noticed the Grand Cleric standing over the balcony, her lips pinched together, her usually serene face wearing a grim expression. _Please_, he thought desperately, _do something!_ His eyes widened as she inclined her head, her gaze penetrating his with a look that said much but revealed so little all at once. So it was rather shocking when she then turned on her heel and walked back into the sanctuary of the Chantry. Cullen, for his part, simply couldn't believe it.

"Templars!" He flinched slightly at the Knight-Commander's barked order, "Arrest these people!"

Varric drew and cocked Bianca, three purple potions caught between his teeth. Isabela sneered at the approaching knights, catching the reflection of the sunlight on her menacing blades and shining them distractingly into their eyes. Anders moved to stand between the two, shifting to readjust his charge by carrying her in both arms. "No magic," he told Solona, "Don't you dare risk the Smite." She gave a curt nod in response.

"Varric, make it quick."

The dwarf smirked as he spat out the three vials, "As my lady commands." He tossed them all up in the air and shot them all out of the sky. Three flashes of blinding light engulfed the entire stage, forcing those nearby to shield their faces or risk going blind and those further away to squint against the unnatural light. Templars ran blindly into the crowds, startling them into confusion as they stumbled about with little sense of direction. The light eventually faded, the chemicals dissipating harmlessly into the air, and where Solona and her companions once stood, there remained only baffled Templars, their helmets darting around seeking aimlessly.

The Knight-Commander was furious, his fists clenching and unclenching in obvious aggravation. He began issuing sharp orders to his knights, commanding them to search the grounds. Cullen, who wasn't associated with the Kirkwall Circle, stood watching the activity around him, taking everything in with a panoramic sweep of his gaze. The people were frightened but were overall relieved at the lack of bloodshed. The Templars were breaking off into groups of two or three, combing through all of Hightown for suspicious persons. Cullen's eyes narrowed as the Knight-Commander marched up the Chantry stairs, his posture one of determination. It was then that he noticed a lone cloaked figure also gazing up the stairs after Alrik before ducking into a side alley.

Solona had broken away from the group after a brief rendezvous with Carver, all accepting the proffered cloaks to hide their appearances. The young Templar, or more appropriately renegade Templar, automatically used his abilities to dampen her and Anders' magical signatures...much to Anders' chagrin.

"A mage without his magic is a dead mage," he had once told her.

"Nonsense. You can always beat your enemy over the head with your staff," had been her reply.

As Carver led them the short distance to the old Amell Manor, Solona turned, her gut churning uncomfortably for some unknown reason. She glanced around to make sure they hadn't been noticed, not that she expected their group to draw any attention with the chaos that had followed Varric's light show, before slipping back to the Chantry square, making sure to tuck her face and hair securely beneath her hood.

_No magic_, she reminded herself, forcing her body to relax as Templars hurried past her. _Pretend you're invisible, and no one will see you._ Of course she was no rogue, but Isabela made it seem easy enough.

As the Knight-Commander reached the top of the Chantry steps, Solona ducked into an alley, loosening the ties of her cloak and laying it on a barrel nearby. She stood still and silent, drawing on her mana for the change, when she felt her senses tingle in warning. In a flash and with a strength that was drawn from sheer panic, she shoved the intruder back and pushed him against the wall, her hands tingling with electricity that licked at plate armor and the exposed skin of a pale neck.

"Oh," she blinked, her expression one of recognition and surprise, "_you_..." Cullen heard the slight flickering of wariness and fear, feelings he never wanted her to have toward him.

_Right. Mage. Templar...of course_, he thought bitterly, _you _idiot!

"Cullen, was it?"

The Knight Captain nodded as best he could in response, not trusting himself to speak without giving away his elation at her remembering his name.

"Are you here to arrest me then?" She dug her fingers further into his collar, and the little shocks she emitted were beginning to hurt.

"No. No, I'm not arresting-"

"Then what is it you want from me?!"

Cullen considered his next words. She looked at him, her eyes sparking in aggression tinged with hidden fear. One wrong move and she would incinerate him...or worse, run away. "Your name, my lady," he said soothingly, as if speaking to a frightened animal, "I never got your name."

Her eyelids fluttered in surprise, her guarded expression giving way to wide-eyed wonderment, and he felt his stomach clench in nervous pleasure at the sight of the bright pink tinge to her cheeks. Her grip loosened, and she backed away slightly, a series of emotions playing on her face, from delight to confusion to fear, and back again.

Cullen sighed_, It was a futile endeavor. It's the Templar she sees now..._

"Solona."

She smiled at him, a sweet smile that lit her face up in a way he'll likely never forget. Then she disappeared, and Cullen's eyes lifted at the sight of a great golden eagle shooting up into the air from where she once stood, the residual burst of magic tingling not unpleasantly against his senses.

Solona glided through an open window behind the giant statue of Andraste, landing stealthily on the decorative crown of her golden head, going unnoticed by the Knight-Commander and Grand Cleric who spoke below her, their heated voices carrying easily in the large hall.

"This madness you have stirred cannot possibly be of the Maker's will, Otto," Callista pleaded. "Please reconsider your stance before you turn Kirkwall into a battleground."

"These _apostates_ must be apprehended before they turn maleficar," Alrik spat venomously, "They must submit themselves to be judged; they must prove themselves in full control of their minds."

_Alrik tortures _alleged _demons out of mages? What kind of sick freak is he? Surely the Chantry would not condone this, _Solona thought, her feathers fluffing in agitation_._

"Please, my love..."

"You know exactly where I stand in this, Callista. If necessary, I will burn all of Kirkwall to safeguard the city from these sinners. I need your blessing. I need you by my side."

Solona didn't need to hear the Grand Cleric's answer to know what would happen. Her strange and _very_ wrong devotion to the Knight-Commander was so transparently etched on her face. She flew out immediately, her wings slicing fluidly through the chill air. There were far too many disturbing factors in this scheme, and she needed to inform Varric immediately. So scattered were her thoughts that she swerved off the draft of air she was riding when a striped goose-feathered arrow shot past her wing.

Her eagle shrieked in alarm, diving down to avoid the other arrow that followed closely behind. _Maker, he's fast_, her bird eye caught sight of a lone figure with bow drawn, black leathers armoring his body. He was an extremely skilled shot, and she certainly did not wish to chance a game with death today...anymore than she already had. She scanned the ground with her hunter's keen vision for any escape. An old warehouse near the docks with a shambling roof seemed promising enough. She could make the change back once inside and head out the rear exit. Hopefully there was a rear exit. This had to be the stupidest plan ever.

A squawk of pain reached her ears before she realized it came from her, the arrow in her right wing knocking her completely off course and sending her spiraling gracelessly into the roof and through the second flooring, rolling her into an unconscious heap of bird feathers and blood. Her body began shifting back to her human form, her mind unable to maintain the spell.

She came around slowly, first feeling the presence of another person in the room and hearing the familiar scrape of metal along a whetstone. The air smelled of stale piss, molded wood, and Chantry incense. Her eyelids slowly drifted open, seeing nothing but darkness. Her body hurt everywhere.

She must've made a noise because suddenly the other person in the room was beside her, the warmth of another body a balm against the cold air. "Varric, I demand a holiday," her voice was hoarse. Screeching and squawking as an eagle did a number on her human vocal cords.

A smooth chuckle sounded to her right, one she was distinctly unfamiliar with. "You deserve one," his voice was thick and pleasant to the ear, accented in a way that would cause most girls to swoon. The effect was lost on Solona, however, having recently discovered her preference for smooth mellow tenors.

_Oh, Maker, I'm in trouble with that one_, the thought passed too quickly for her to stop it. _Focus. Priorities. _"You shot me," she wanted to punch the man, lovely accent or not, but her arms were refusing to cooperate. Her eyes turned to observe his outline, barely visible in the darkness.

"I was trying to get your attention," his tone was contrite. "Instead I'm afraid I may have frightened you terribly."

"May have? You looked like a hunter!"

"I knew who you were," her silence indicated incredulity, and he continued, "and I am a hunter, actually. I know that golden eagles don't nest around these parts. I'm also aware that there are mages who can alter their forms and become animals. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together."

Her eyes narrowed, hating the fact that his reasoning was sound. Now came the more important question, "Why?"

There was another lapse into silence, and she waited patiently as he seemed to gather the right words to say, "I am...or was, Brother Sebastian of the Kirkwall Chantry. I am seeking my charge, the Lady Marian Hawke. I'm sure you're quite familiar with her, given your rather passionate performance earlier today." He meant the speech against the Knight-Commander, of course, not that she expected a Brother of the Chantry to comment on her rather risque display prior to it. Besides with her mask on, she doubted anyone noticed who she really was.

"Her brother Carver mentioned you before. My friends and I were tasked with the job of breaking her out of the Chantry. We did not realize that Alrik had other plans," her brow furrowed as a thought struck her. "I'm surprised you were not made aware of our intentions."

"It had become increasingly difficult to deliver and receive correspondence. The Templar guards were relentless in their vigilance. I was only able to sneak away once to meet with a contact. Even then I was caught upon my return and detained in one of the storage rooms. Today was my chance to break out while the guards outside were preoccupied with your flash bombs." He turned to regard the injured woman lying beside him, "She is...safe?"

Solona nodded but then remembered that he might be able to see it, "Yes, we met up with Carver, and they are now in hiding. We have a healer within our group; he will tend to her wounds."

"Thank the Maker…" he had whispered it, but it sounded strained. It seemed this Holy Brother was quite fond of her cousin.

Her thoughts strayed back to the conversation she overheard in the Chantry, her head clearer now despite the haze of pain clouding her mind. Alrik would be hunting her now. She understood now that she could not risk going back to her friends. "I take it this means that you and I are now fugitives?"

"F-fugitives?" She sensed surprise, as if the idea of being a criminal was a completely alien thought to him.

"I was spying within the Chantry before you decided to shoot me down from the sky," she snickered in amusement as she felt him shift uncomfortably. "Castilla is in league with Alrik. They intend to weed out all apostates by any means necessary. If they find you, you get arrested for your association with apostates and sent back to the Chantry. If I'm discovered, however, I get sent to the Gallows where I will likely be whipped, stretched, burned, or whatever other torturous designs Alrik might have in store for me."

"What do you intend to do?"

Solona thought...and thought. She needed some way to rally all of the mages of Kirkwall or perhaps send warnings or lay false trails..._something_! Varric might have returned to the Hanged Man by now, but chances were he was still at the estate with the rest of them. Even if she were to fly to the Hanged Man and leave a missive, he might not get it in time to contact his people. Then his people might not have the time to gather the resources necessary to protect the city. No, she needed to do something bold, something daring and likely dangerous. But what?

"I don't know." She felt lost and so disgustingly helpless. If her body wasn't sporting injuries from his blasted arrow and that rather spectacular fall, she might've curled up in a ball and rocked back and forth in despair. Speaking of injuries… "Fold up the hem of my skirt." The Chantry Brother sputtered at the rather inappropriate request, and Solona sighed. It was just the _hem_, for Maker's sake. "There is a dagger in each boot. Pull one out for me and unwrap my arm. Help me sit up while you're at it."

Sebastian obeyed her request, lifting her gingerly off the ground, pausing at every hiss that issued from between her clenched teeth. Her spine seemed mostly unaffected from the fall, though her nerves said differently, still jarred from the impact of the fall. Apparently Sebastian had helped set a dislocated shoulder while she was out, if the tightness in the joint there were any indication. What she wouldn't give for a health potion...like the one being held before her face. She blinked. "Cullen...my contact, gave me several vials to help Marian."

Solona barely heard him, uncorking the bottle with her teeth and downing the fluid all at once. _Oh, yesssss, that hit the spot…_ With a little more energy in her system, she looked down at her arm. Sebastian had tied a tourniquet, which explained why she could barely feel the limb, much less move it. She studied the wound. It was a clean shot, sent straight through muscle and sinew and out the other side. Still, to leave it as it was would invite infection, and what little healing abilities she knew where limited to reducing minor scrapes and bruises. She'd more likely open the wound further with her lack of control than be able to heal the arrow wound. What she wouldn't give for a pocket Anders right then.

She focused inward, drawing on her deep well of mana and the dagger aflame, focusing the heat so that it burned from within the blade. "It'll have to be sealed," she glanced at Sebastian, his features clearer now in the low light. He nodded in comprehension as he took the flaming dagger by the hilt. Solona bunched up the ends of her skirt and stuffed it in her mouth

She felt him grasp her arm and took several steadying breaths through her nostrils. "Ready?"

She shrugged, her chest heaving in anticipation of the pain that came sooner than she anticipated. _You bastard!_ She clenched her eyes shut, spots appearing behind the lids. Cold sweat ran down her face as all of her muscles quivered in agony, every nerve in her body protesting the sheer amount of pain being flooded through her system, and she held her breath, desperately pulling back the scream that threatened to tear from her throat. Sebastian lifted the dagger for a moment, allowing her some respite, only to press it against the other end of the wound. _Maker...Andraste...FUCK!_ Her body convulsed in violent reaction, but Sebastian's grip on her shoulder was firm, preventing her from accidentally dislocating her arm again. She swore to herself in that very moment that she _will_ get around to studying the Creation Arts even as she felt her consciousness fading, a chill creeping over her skin as every and all sensation drifting away from her. Just faint. _Faint_, already.

She didn't faint...and oh, Maker, she was exhausted. Dark spots colored her vision from where her eyelids had pressed too tightly against her eyes. Or perhaps it was for lack of oxygen. Solona hardly cared as her head lolled forward. "Next time...I shoot you with an arrow, and you can bloody fix it yourself."

Another health potion was pressed to her lips, and she drank greedily. Words tumbled back into her memory, something she should be aware of...something about these potions…

Her eyes flew open in realization as she spat the elfroot extract in the startled face of Sebastian.

"Did you say '_Cullen'?!_"

* * *

_References:_

_-This version of Satinalia is based on the information found on the Bioware webpage, under the article "Theodosian Holidays"._

_Entry: "Once dedicated to the Old Goddess of Freedom, Zazikel—but now attributed more to the second moon, Satina—this holiday is accompanied by wild celebration, the wearing of masks, and naming the town fool as ruler for a day. In Antiva, Satinalia lasts for a week or more, while a week of fasting follows. In more pious areas, large feasts and the giving of gifts mark the holiday. Satinalia is celebrated at the beginning of Umbralis."_

_In searching for a holiday on which to pin "The Feast of Fools", there was absolutely no better match. _

_-So I was trying to find the name of the potion that Lazzaro from Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker had, the one that when you toss it, the chemical reaction creates an aoe blinding flash of light. Google didn't give me what I was looking for; so I ended up watching that part of the movie again. Regalyan names the potion, and I'm pretty sure I heard him say "This is a vial of nexium suspension", even though it sounded like NEES-ium instead of NEX-ium. I googled that, and I...don't think...a vial of...would do...that. If you're curious, you can google it yourself, but yeah. Just sayin'..._

_Purple potions and flash bombs are as specific as I'm going to get in this story. _

_1: Since Thedas itself seems to be based on real life locations and cultures, ex: Orlais = France, Antiva = Italy, Fereldan = Great Britain, I wanted to try my hand at making real life parallels with the Anderfels. Thedas itself generally seems an inverted Europe. In the DA Wikia, the article on Anderfels made reference to Gaider when he said that the Anderfels are "German in character, a bit more on the Visigoth side". The article also mentions how the Anderfels could relate to the State of the Teutonic Order, but that could be referring to the Wardens' presence in the Anderfels. So I wiki-ed...a lot. _

_(Brace yourselves...incoming wall of text)_

_After the fall of the Western Roman Empire, which is likened to the Tevinter Imperium, the Kingdom of the Visigoths extended from Gaul down to Hispania around the 450s. The WRE did try to regain some of its former land, parts of Hispania included, which can be compared to how the Imperium tried to keep a foothold in the Anderfels for another two hundred years after the First Blight. However, in the early 700s, the Islamic Berbers invaded and eventually came to settle in the southern parts of Hispania. So since things are "inverted", we can assume that southern Hispania would be similar to northern Anderfels and that Berber and Arabic cultures can act as parallels to those of the nomadic Orth tribes of the Wandering Hills...which includes what we know as belly dances, or dances of the Oulid Nail, Berber tribes of Algeria. None of this explains why Hispania would have names of German origin or be interpreted as the desert wasteland that is the Anderfels, but we can just chalk that up to "The Blight hit the fan in the Anderfels"._

_Thank you for reading. This message has been brought to you by "How much can Dakoyone get away with before people call her bullshit?" Honestly, all I wanted was to be able to add belly dancing into the story without it seeming too farfetched...gawd. Also I'm not going to list all the links I looked up for all the information. Just know that my sources are primarily DAWikia and Wikipedia. _

_-Design of dance costume: /costumes /navybluebella _

_-Costume mask: fs71 /PRE /i/2013 /069 /b/f /red_and_glod_ masquerade_ mask_by_criticsweare _


	5. 5: Tollis Peccata Mundi

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 5: Tollis Peccata Mundi

_Thunk._

"When I find her, dead or alive, I'm going to kill her!" Isabela was worried. Very worried. She twirled her blades angrily, throwing them with a snarl at the creepy Tevinter statue standing over the mantelpiece. None of them had seen Solona slip away when they left the Chantry, and that had been hours ago. Even Carver looked pale, his face drawn as he sat staring at the fire, worrying over his cousin and his sister, not at all minding the damage being dealt upon his family's property.

"Does she usually do this?" he asked.

"Yes!" Isabela turned fiery eyes on him, pointing a rather wicked looking dagger at his face. "And every time she comes back, _every_ time, she's missing an arm or a leg or half of her brain matter or _something_! I'm going to _strangle_ that woman!"

_Thunk._

The blade narrowly missed Carver's head, but he barely noticed it for the roaring tempest of thoughts that spun around his head. Something within him broke when he saw his sister, saw what Alrik was doing, and he had frozen in place. He was a coward, standing there like a fool when he should've done something, when he should've stood up against Alrik just as Solona had. Now Solona was missing, and Marian was in a critical condition...and he never felt more _helpless_. He joined the Templar Order for the sole reason of watching out for Marian, and still he couldn't protect her. He couldn't protect Bethany. He couldn't protect anyone.

"Hey," Isabela called, easily picking up on his distress, "she'll be back, alright? Then you can, I don't know, sweep her off her feet and kiss her under the stars or do...whatever it is lovebirds do."

That certainly caught his attention. "L-lovebirds...kiss..._Solona_?!" His face flushed a deep beet red before turning a rather sick shade of green then as he rushed to explain, "It's not like that at all. Solona and I would never...ugh. She's my _cousin_!"

"Is that what they're calling it these days? I swear, nobility and inbreeding go hand in hand. Oh...you're serious," Isabela turned thoughtful, her previous fury and brief humor suddenly forgotten at this new revelation. "Well then..." And before Carver could blink, he found himself with a lap full of trouser-less pirate, her lips molding against his and her breathy moans urging his body to respond with primal instinct. She pulled back briefly and smirked at his innocently wide-eyed stare. "You're cute. I think I'll keep you," she hummed.

Varric stepped in at that very moment, "Rivaini, what did we discuss about seducing clients?"

Isabela pouted and pressed Carver's rapidly burning face into her generously bared cleavage, "Oh, but Varric, he's family..."

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before her words registered in his mind, "Wait...whose family?"

"Solona's."

He stood there gaping like a fish. He normally prided himself on being the best dealer of information this side of Thedas. Knowing that Amell had managed to keep this little secret to herself was admirable...and a little irking, but mostly admirable. That she was related to the- oh...now _that_ was interesting. Varric wondered if the little eagle herself knew… But no matter. There were more pressing concerns at the moment, "Gear up, Rivaini. I...think there's something outside that you should see. I'll get Anders."

Marian Hawke felt herself breathe. It was a full breath, not plagued by infection and weakness, and it was a wonderful feeling. She stretched out her body and yawned widely. She had forgotten what her body felt like, what being awake meant, what being tired meant. For the longest time, it was just a constant burning in body and mind, a dark hazy memory that was probably better off forgotten. Had Sebastian been able to call a healer? The wounds she remembered her body bearing were absent, only phantom pains left in their wake. She wondered this as she turned on her side and burrowed further under the covers. Wait...these were silk sheets. She distinctly remembered the bed she lay on in the Chantry to be coarse and rough against her wounds.

Her eyes flicked wildly about, taking in her surroundings. She recognized this place, the warm hearth, that writing desk, Orana's lute...she was back at the estate! But...how? Why?

She threw off the covers and tossed her legs over the side of the bed, pushing back the urge to vomit at the sudden, jerky movements while toeing into her house slippers and wrapping a robe around her body. She stumbled as she made her way to her door, her legs still weak from the aftereffects of fever. Her breathing was labored, and sweat beaded her brow at her exertions. As she reached for the door handle, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she turned her gaze out the window, bright blue eyes widening at the glow that seemed to be coming from the direction of the Chantry. Every thought of leaving her room vanished abruptly as she took tentative steps toward the window, leaning heavily against the frame as she gazed outside. A hand reached up to press against her mouth, fine tremors racing up and down her spine, as she realized just what she was seeing.

Varric, Isabela, Carver, and Anders were all gathered in front of the Chantry. Varric, for his part, gave no indication of how he felt, having seen it already. Isabela stood slack-jawed, and Anders...Anders had a certain gleam in his eye, one they remembered from back before he and Solona joined forces with the two rogues. It was a look he bore often when he sat hunched over his manifesto, scratching out his thoughts on the Circle and the overall discrimination against mages.

"This is her doing then?" Carver's voice was hoarse, his throat tight with worry.

Varric laughed and scratched his chin, "I don't see anyone else around here eager to pick a fight with the Templars."

"She's going to get herself killed."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Rivaini. Despite this rather ostentatiously poetic message, I don't think Amell is reckless enough to face Alrik and his men on her own."

_No_, Anders thought, _she would not take on the Templars single-handedly_. They had discussed it before once, in the middle of a random night when they'd both lain awake stewing in troubled thoughts. They wondered then what they would do if the Templars were ever driven to expend their full might against the mages. Anders had thought of gathering all of the mages to make a stand. Solona had been quiet for long time after that.

"We would all die," she had finally said, startling him as he had begun to doze. "Our magic against the Templars' ability to strip away our magic? No… I think that if it ever came to war between mages and Templars, it would be best to have the city on our side."

So there the four of them, along with other curious onlookers, stood before the Chantry, atop the stage erected for the festivities throughout the remaining week. They all stared at the magnified outline of a Templar greatsword drawn in lines of magelight that hovered in the air, the tip of the blade broken to resemble the Sword of Mercy[1], the entire weapon from tip to hilt wrapped in chains and engulfed in flame.

The absence of Mercy is what the chained sword meant and the wreath of flame a promise to end it.

The significance of the placement of the sword was not lost to them either, floating above the very spot where Alrik had Marian restrained, delivering Smite after Smite upon her person. For Solona it was not just a fight for mages anymore; it had become personal, a fight to save her family, to ensure that there would be no more victims. She would fuel the flames and ignite the peoples' hearts to stand against the tyrannical hand of Knight-Commander Alrik, not just for the mages...but for all of Kirkwall.

_She's made her mark_, Cullen thought as he peeked out from under the hood, watching people come and go, some shocked at the sight of a floating, burning sword, others frightened by the blatant show of rebellion, of what the future might bring. Others, interestingly enough, stood firmly in silence, their faces etched in grim determination with the blazing light of the fire reflected in their eyes. These people were the ones who would heed the call to arms.

He huffed a humorless laugh. This Solona was a formidable woman to be sure, able to spur rebellion and unite the citizens with a rallying cry for Kirkwall. He glanced up at the sky, noting the faint lightening of morning twilight. Alrik had ordered a door-to-door investigative search for all apostates, starting from Lowtown and drawing a net inward to prevent suspects from escaping. Cullen had little time to act. He stepped back away from the Chantry, stretching his senses out to the fullest, sifting through every tendril of magic lingering in the air. He had a mage to track down, and he prayed he'd be able to find her before Alrik did.

.

.

.

Sebastian left soon after Solona had recovered, borrowing...okay, _stealing_ a horse to ride back to Starkhaven and gather what soldiers he could. It was quite the surprise when he revealed himself to be not only a Chantry Brother but also a Prince of Starkhaven. She meant to question him further, but there was little time to spare for idle chatter. So here she was sitting at the edge of the docks, having nowhere else to go for the time being, her feet dangling over the murky water, gazing out at the Gallows in contemplation. She recalled Morrigan's thoughts, remembering the scowl on her face, as she described the Circle Tower as a cage where complacent mages would go willingly to become prisoners.

"Even the knowledge they gain is limited to what their precious Chantry will allow, only just enough to control themselves and still be held taut on their Templar leashes," she had ranted, "They cast like simpletons, their pathetic storms and glyphs mere child's play. They know nothing of the true limits of magic. Those who delve foolishly into the art of blood magic so easily fall prey to demons because their control, their will, is weak. _Fools_."

Solona believed her. She had seen the magic of the Circle mages, and she had nearly laughed at their pitiful displays of power. Even if she did gather the Circle mages as allies, they'd never stepped foot outside the Tower, possessed little to no fighting instincts, and would likely be the first to die. With Anders, she had the time to teach him focus and to strengthen his will. Since then he had improved much in his healing abilities from drawing poison out directly from within the blood to soothing quite a few maladies of the mind. Still, he would only be one healer amongst a small army of Kirkwallers against a sea of templars. Perhaps...perhaps if she requested aid from only the Circle healers... Ugh. This was _impossible._ She scratched at her scalp in irritation.

She was so deep in thought that she missed the moment when several boats filled with Templars being tied off at the piers. Karras was with them, and Solona hid her face by ducking down to stare at the water, tightening around her body the cloak Sebastian had mysteriously procured for her. "You have your orders, men!" He barked, "Search every building and capture any apostate you come across. Arrest anyone who dares to oppose us."

Solona's eyes widened in alarm, thoughts flying through her head faster than she was able to keep track of. She had to return to Darktown. Her and Anders' staves were hidden elsewhere and under enchanted seals of protection and illusion, but she had to get to Anders' manifesto and gather whatever else she could carry. Then she heard the screams. A woman was being dragged out by the hair, two screaming children being held back by a man who had a sword pressed into his throat. She watched as the Templars Smote the woman when she tried to cast defensively, striking her face and body with their gauntleted fists to cease her struggling.

"Alana!" the man cried, launching himself forward only to have his head nearly severed as his neck slid against the blade. The woman cried out in despair, and the Templars shoved the children forcibly back into the house. The man lay there as he bled from the fatal wound, his body spasming as his death beckoned.

It was too much. Barely able to restrain her rapidly unraveling control, Solona waved her arms, hissing as injured muscles were strained from the action, and sent a telepathic blast that knocked both Templars onto their backs, then drawing the dirt and dust from the air to pierce their eyes and fill their throats, preventing them even from screaming. Every breath of air would send the alien particles into their lungs where they would puncture through the inner linings. It was a gruesome death, she knew, and the spell took much out of her. She only ever used it on those whom she thought truly deserved it.

"Can you heal?" She snapped impatiently at Alana who sat there pale and unmoving at seeing the deaths of the two Templars. Solona's jaw tightened, and she reached forward to jerk the other woman's shoulder roughly, "Your husband needs assistance. Can. You. Heal?"

That seemed to shake her out of her stupor, but she trembled as she shook her head, tears streaming down her face at the sight of her dying husband. "I-I can't. Oh, Maker, Daeth...I can't heal him."

"I can heal."

Solona turned quickly, noticing the lone elf standing there. She cast her gaze about, ensuring that there were no more Templars nearby, before nodding to the elf boy. "Quickly."

He scurried forward and kneeled beside the man, his hands glowing blue as he spoke, "I am Feynriel. Listen to my voice. You will be alright. Just listen..."

Three more Templars rounded a corner. "Hurry," Solona urged as she sent them into a sustained state of paralysis. "You," she turned her attention on the still-shocked woman, "you and your children must go into hiding or leave the city. If you know of any others, alert them of the danger immediately."

"But I...we have nowhere to go," Alana stammered.

"I will lead them to safety," the boy Feynriel stated calmly, his brow beaded with sweat as he continued his work. "My people will protect them."

_Your people_? Solona blinked. She shook her head, _Later._ "Who else is there?"

"I don't know very many. We usually keep to ourselves. There's Lirene, and Tomwise is one too. Bonny Lem likes to forget that he's a mage. Huon, Evelina, and Grace, I know, are somewhere in Darktown."

"So many of you," Solona breathed. That there were so many other apostates in the city occupying the same space that she and Anders called home certainly came as a shock to her.

Alana shrugged, "The Knight-Commander always focused more on the mages he had control over. We've all seen the message you left at the Chantry. Should you need our help, we will fight by your side."

"I...thank you." Solona's mind was still reeling with the knowledge of so many mages in hiding, most of whom she knew. She noted the darkening and swelling skin where Alana had been struck and reached out, grazing magic-tipped fingers against her face to lessen the pain. "Feynriel?"

"Nearly done. Best gather your things quickly, Alana. Your husband will be watched after here. He will need time to recover."

Alana nearly cried in relief, "Thank you. Thank both of you. I won't be long."

After she had stumbled back into the house, Solona noticed Feynriel eyeing the Templars she still held in stasis. "I've never seen such control before. You must be very powerful."

"It just takes practice," Solona murmured, not used to such praise of her abilities. "Who are 'your people'?"

A small smile graced delicate elven features, "Come with me, and I'll show you."

Solona pursed her lips in irritation, "If you haven't noticed, there are mages who need to be made aware of certain approaching danger of the Templar variety."

"That's right," he furrowed his brows, reaching into a small pouch at his side and withdrawing what looked like strips of red ribbon. "If the other mages have no safe refuge or escape, instruct them to tie these to their arms and to stay within the Hightown market. We will find them. You should make your way there as well. She'll want to meet you."

"She? Who's s-never mind. Find me later," and with a frustrated huff, Solona stalked off, blasting down the suspended Templars as she passed them with a bit more force than she intended and knocking them clear over the edge and into the water. Oh, well...

She found Lirene first, who was valiantly holding her own against two hulking Templars while downing bottles of lyrium after every Smite. After helping her dispatch the two, she was given a rundown of the situation, and the Ferelden merchant told Solona that she would inform the other merchants. Huon, Evelina, and Grace were huddled in a dirty gutter in Darktown, oblivious of the ongoing mage hunt. They promised to make their way to Hightown immediately, giving themselves time to plan a proper escape. They had a friend, Emile, in the nobles' quarter who might be willing to take them in temporarily.

After tracking down the last of the known apostates, Solona rushed down to the clinic, dread flooding her heart as she heard the telltale clanking of Templar armor nearby.

"The rebel mage has been sighted!"

"Do whatever you can to capture her. She is the one the Knight-Commander wants." It was Kirkwall's Knight-Captain who issued the order.

_Curse that Karras! As if I'd make it easy for them,_ she flew down the steps, sliding to a stop instantly upon seeing a group of five knights knocking on the clinic doors. _Maker, no!_

With hardly a thought, she cast a Mind Blast so strong that it knocked over all five templars and sent the doors bursting wide open. Without a moment's hesitation, she leapt over the groaning bodies and swung the heavy doors shut behind her, melting the locks. She quickly grabbed two satchels and raced across the room, stuffing Anders' journal and as many vials as she could possibly fit into one bag, then running toward the window and unhooking dried herbs, tossing them carelessly into the other.

She had no escape. The thought stopped her short as she suddenly heard the ominous sound of something ramming into the door. Fear gripped her heart as she slowly backed away toward the window.

"_Jump_!"

Solona looked out below her and laughed shakily. She would never survive the fall, and she was drained of all her mana from the last spell.

"_Jump!_"

"Knight-Captain, she's inside!"

"Oh, for the love of...can you idiots do nothing right? Move aside before I blow you apart!"

"_Jump, you fool woman!_"

Solona dove out the window just as the entire opposite wall exploded, splinters and wood beams flying everywhere. Red filled her vision as pain erupted throughout her body, and she wasn't entirely sure she avoided the blast. Her thoughts grew hazy, and she briefly pondered the difference between flight and free fall.

_"Morrigan, why must you leave?"_

_"Afraid of being alone?"_

_"No...yes."_

_"I have told you before, Solona, there is a last trial I must overcome. Let this be your test then, hmm? How long before your burn down the hut with your horrible cooking?"_

_"Trial. Is this why Flemeth went before you? Will she be testing you?"_

_"...yes. Flemeth will be...testing me."_

There were voices beside her head, snatches of melody against the roaring in her skull. "She's stirring."

"Yes, I see that. 'Twould be wise to keep her out; I am not done here yet. Honestly, allowing that boy to cast so recklessly...foolish child..."

She felt a cool hand against her brow. She wanted to moan and press further into it, but her body refused to respond. That voice. She recognized it, that soothing low timbre mingled with an ever-constant tinge of haughty annoyance...

_Morrigan._

The first thing she heard was the static sound of a waterfall.

Her eyes drifted slowly open, taking in her surroundings in a single glance. She seemed to be in a cave of sorts. A candle was burning happily beside her, its current height as well as the amount of wax surrounding it giving her a good idea of how long she'd been out.

Sitting up was difficult. Her hand found itself winding around her waist, and her eyes widened at feeling the bandages there. She couldn't remember being injured. She gingerly removed the sheet around her body, noticing that she had been stripped down to her smallclothes. There were more bandages around both her legs. _Andraste's naked bum, how am I still alive?!_

"You shouldn't be up yet," a sweet but stern voice sounded from somewhere on her left. Solona turned and immediately regretted it as the muscles at her waist protested. The woman was young, perhaps no older than twenty. Her dark hair was tied back loosely, and her brown eyes...seemed very familiar.

"Another Hawke?" Solona groaned as she let the other woman lean her back against propped up pillows.

She laughed, dimpling prettily, the sound of her voice soft and delicate, "I am Bethany. I'm sure Carver has told you about me. He tends to run at the mouth."

"He spoke of you," Solona nodded, "yet...you seem very alive for a dead woman."

She watched as Bethany's eyes clouded over, "It is best to remain dead for the time being. We all have been in hiding for so long."

"...'We'?"

Bethany cast a secret smile her way, and for a brief moment Solona wondered if she had somehow missed her begetting day. In a moment, her friends would jump out from around the corner, all shouting "Surprise!" Alrik would appear in a jester's costume, juggling torches and laughing at how well he had her fooled, and Cullen would...would...Solona felt her cheeks redden, and mentally delivered a swift kick to her straying thoughts_._

Before Bethany could respond however, another voice sounded, one she knew all too well. "Still as stubborn as ever, I see."

"Morrigan!" The elation at seeing her old friend and mentor showed brightly on her face.

The Chasind witch gave a soft, fond smile in return, "Indeed. 'Twould seem we have both passed our tests."

Bethany nodded, acknowledging the older woman's silent request, "I'm sure you have much catching up to do. Drink this." Solona felt the warm mug being pressed against her fingers, and she groaned, scrunching up her face as the familiar stench of the brew hit her nose.

"'Tis for your own good, fool girl. If you had jumped when I first asked you to, Braegen would not have been the one to slow your fall with those stupid roots, and you would not be lying here with holes riddling your body. Drink it!"

Bethany flinched as Morrigan's voice rose in pitch, but Solona simply shrugged, "Doesn't mean I have to like it." She took a steadying breath and tipped it back, downing the entire draught in three swallows. Her body shuddered involuntarily as she handed the mug back to Bethany, who smirked in amusement and left.

The following silence was deafening.

"Now before you jump to conclusions..." Solona started at the exact same time Morrigan rounded on her.

"You have absolutely no idea how long it took to find you…!"

And so the first argument in a long time began with Morrigan listing off offenses against her impulsive nature and lack of common sense and Solona being unable to get a word in edgewise. Her relationship with Morrigan had always been special, a kinship that she had found with no other, and all it took was a heated fight to bring back the memory of the void she experienced when she had been separated from this wild sister of hers.

"I was being hunted-" Solona froze immediately as she felt long slender arms enfold her, the pain of her wounds barely registering at this alien sensation. Morrigan never hugged her. She never hugged anyone, always uncomfortable with "all the _touching_". Solona knew then that she was not the only one who had missed her friend. Slowly her arms folded gently under Morrigan's shoulders as she returned the embrace, and she felt a tension she never knew she carried finally leave with a sigh.

"You will speak of this to no one."

The younger woman grinned. _Yeah...right._

Solona stepped gingerly, leaning heavily on the staff she had borrowed from Morrigan and clenching her teeth as each step sent a stab of pain from her legs up. Bethany was leading them through a series of tunnels, explaining things as they walked. "These caves were once a part of a mining system of Emerius when it was still under Tevinter rule. Jet stone was considered highly valuable for its density then, and this entire coast is nothing but jet stone. The city proper was constructed aboveground, and we use the various tunnel openings to enter and leave the city without being detected.

After a minor slave revolt, Archon Issar had expanded the Chantry catacombs and built underground holdings for imported slaves. We use those ruins now to house refugees and act as headquarters."

Solona had a very difficult time keeping up with Bethany's crash course in Tevinter history. Additionally her constant references to "we" and "our" and "us" had the poor Amell woman hopelessly befuddled. "Headquarters?"

Bethany smiled that Maker blasted secret smile again, "Solona Amell, it is my honor to welcome you to the Mage Underground."

As they turned the corner, the first thing Solona noticed was the impossibly high domed ceiling. Just how far underground were they?! Bright magelights hung suspended in the air, and Solona breathed a barely audible gasp at the hundreds of small apartments built into the stone walls. From where they stood, Solona could make out several flights of stairs (looking extremely unappealing in her current weakened condition) leading to the ground, and below them crowds of people were milling about. Merchant stalls sold Kirkwall wares as well as foreign merchandise. Children cast harmless spells at each other, some even changing into small animals, supervised by adults who stood nearby. Armored soldiers stood vigilant at strategic points in the room, their weapons glowing with enchantment, their bodies almost translucent, as if they half-stood in the Fade. _Arcane Magic_, Solona thought, dazed. There was an entire community below her...of mages, all channeling magic to their fullest potential.

She swayed on her feet, and she felt the pressure of a familiar hand on her back. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

Morrigan laughed, "'Tis truly amazing, seeing what they've accomplished here."

"We are well aware that war has begun," Bethany said beside her, and Solona grinned sheepishly at this. "Many of the mages here have spent the last eight years training in preparation. Morrigan and several other senior mages have provided considerable instruction. We also send out our young regularly to study among the Dalish in Sundermount where they can be more exposed to power we never had within the Circle and where they will remain safe from the battle here. The Mage Underground are prepared to fight for freedom by your side."

Hard resolution was set in Bethany's earthy eyes, and Solona felt an answering call rise up in response. Perhaps they stood a fighting chance after all.

* * *

_A/N: Game. Set. Match._

_References:_

_1: "The Sword of Mercy...has a blade cut off short and square, indicating thereby the quality of the mercy of the sovereign; according to the mythological history of the sword, its tip was broken off by an angel to prevent a wrongful killing." - source: Wikipedia: "Sword of Mercy"_


	6. 6: Ascendit In Caelum

_A/N: Just a heads up, there be pure smut at the end of the chapter. Honestly I was going back and forth between wanting to edit it for FF. net or if I should just leave it in. I mean, I have read more detailed lemon scenes than what I've written here; so I'm assuming that this would still fall under an M rating…I hope. If it doesn't, please let me know so I can make the appropriate changes. _

_But yay for my first attempt at writing smut! I hope it's tasteful._

* * *

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 6: Ascendit In Caelum

Anders returned to the Hawke estate, feeling the weight of loss on his shoulders. The moment he caught wind of what the Templars were doing in Lowtown, he had immediately raced back to the clinic...only to find that the front wall had been completely demolished and that everything within had been torched. If Solona had been there before him, he found no trace of her. If Solona had been captured...Anders shook his head. Varric was on it now, meeting with his contacts for updates on the situation.

Mages had been arrested and were being transported in steel-barred cages lined with a series of enchantments to prevent spells from breaching its barriers. The cages were kept on display at the Chantry square, its victims subject to public ridicule while awaiting trial. Most mage supporters were quarantined within several warehouses along the docks. Nearly all of Lowtown was reduced to ashes, and a large portion of Darktown had collapsed in on itself.

The healer spotted movement in the room to his left and glanced over. Carver had been growing restless, pacing across the hall of the estate like a caged animal. He knew that he was a prime suspect in helping Marian escape, and he knew that the templars were unaware of his noble lineage and would never suspect him to be hiding out in Hightown. Still he was bored out of his mind, and Isabela wasn't around to distract him. She had left earlier in the day to secure their escape from the city if necessary...and if Solona didn't come back.

Anders' pursed his lips angrily as he passed the study wherein the younger Hawke prowled and made his way up to check on his patient. "She'd better come back," he groused bitterly, "even if only so that we can beat her to a pulp for dragging us into this mess."

"Such camaraderie among friends," an amused voice stated with regal calm.

Anders startled, expecting to find her still abed, whirled around to see Marian Hawke resting in a cushioned, high-backed armchair, staring into the fireplace. "Forgive me, lady, I did not realize you were awake."

Marian quirked an eyebrow at him, and it reminded Anders of a similar expression on a different and yet painfully similar face. She regarded him silently in the firelight, "You were right. I have weakened much. It took me the walk from my bed to this chair for me to realize I needed to sit down before I did something humiliating...like faint."

"You shouldn't even be walking around at all, stubborn woman." _Just like her._

"I tried dousing the fire earlier." Anders winced at the sudden change in topic. This was a conversation he would've liked to avoid, but it seemed Marian had other ideas, "My magic didn't respond."

The question remained in the air, Marian unwilling to voice it and Anders hesitant to answer. He moistened his suddenly dry lower lip while he considered his words, "It...the...Varric asked around. Apparently Alrik had commissioned Antivan alchemical research into altering the molecular properties of lyrium to rebuff spell casting rather than enhance it.

The lyrium had been enchanted into the steel prison wagons now littering the streets and had likely also been infused in the tools Alrik uses for torture. I've only been able to treat you with herbal remedies that I had enhanced with unaltered lyrium dust, and so far, there's been a gradual restoration of your mana pool. However, despite my efforts, it is most likely that only after your wounds have healed completely and your body has expelled the toxins through natural means, your magic will return. Until then..."

"Until then I am helpless, I suppose," she was angry, her fingers digging into the upholstery and her eyes burning cool fire in indignation.

"I...yes, indefinitely." The silence that followed was cold and stifling, and Anders shifted his weight uneasily. "I am sorry, my lady, that I was unable to do more."

Marian exhaled slowly, expelling the tension from her body. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. "No...you have done your work well, healer. I-my anger was not directed toward you." She inclined her head at him once more, and Anders shifted uncomfortably beneath her hawk-like gaze, "You are very honest. Bethany would've liked you."

_Bethany?_ Anders could only blink in bemusement. There was something unsettling about this Hawke. She had a penchant to go through a series of points and never in any particular order...or sense. It was very...political.

"If you or your companions can scrounge up a bow for me, I would be most grateful. Thank you, Anders, for everything."

Anders bowed clumsily at the clear dismissal and left her quarters, heading back to the kitchens to brew her some tea for the pain. Maker, were all Hawkes and Amells this cryptic? Then again there was Carver who seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

Just the women then.

"You know," Isabela's sultry drawl reached Anders from the downstairs study, the pirate apparently having had just returned from her day's missions, "You look like a man I once dueled."

Anders sighed, _Poor kid…won't have a clue what hit him._

"He looked like me, you say?" came Carver's response.

"It went on all night, under the stars, the waves lapping at our ankles..."

_Yep, he's a goner. _Anders was grateful the door to the kitchens were on the other side of the estate, making it unlikely for him to be dragged into _that _conversation.

"Did you...win?"

The mage released a low snicker in amusement as he let the door swing shut behind him. He breathed in the heady scent of ground herb that washed over him and allowed himself a moment of undisturbed calm before setting to work. The center island counter was already littered with all of his equipment. Bundles of herbs hung in an organized line overhead while the heady aromas of his medicinal brews wafted over him, drawn up by the steam of the heated water in which they were steeped. Letting his magic loose over his fingers, not as a tool but as an extension of himself just as Solona taught him, he watched as his hands seemed to work on their own, with gracefully deft precision that no normal being could hope to replicate.

He felt the soothing tendrils of his magic against his senses, as if it were its own being, dancing and laughing while bending his fingers to its will. It loved to heal, to create and fix and cure. He smiled at the cheerful glow as it seemed to jump about excitedly, sprinkling, stirring, and simmering in a fit of productivity. Anders couldn't help but share in its mirth and enjoy his work as much as it did.

So concentrated he was in his task that he never sensed the intruders coming up behind him from a secret entrance in the lower wine cellars and never saw the sword pommel that struck the back of his head, sending him immediately into darkness.

Varric returned to the estate much later, slamming the door behind him and stamping the feeling back into his numbed feet. He was a dwarf who was accustomed to the warmth of a blazing hearth and the heat of a mug of ale, not this thrice-damned nug shit beaten cold. The volume of his entrance attracted much attention as Marian stumbled out of her room, expecting trouble, and Carver stumbled out of his room, looking...well, thoroughly in trouble.

One look at his current state of undress had Marian gasping in shock, a hand flying to her mouth, "Carver! Imagine what mother would've said!"

Varric blinked at the exchange, watching Junior's eyes widen as he looked down at himself and saw all the scratches and bite marks decorating his torso. "...T-that's not what I..." a long pair of dark tanned arms, bared of her usual buckled bracers and leather gauntlets, emerged from the shadows of the room behind him and wrapped themselves around his waist, urging him back into the darkness, "..._shit!_"

The dwarf pinched the bridge of his nose before noticing something was off, "Anyone seen Anders?"

.

.

.

He could happily admit he's had better days, much better days...days where light pitter patter of cats' paws, cats who were aptly named Ser Wiggums and Ser Pounce-A-Lot, would bat pleasantly at his hair...

_Not_ the aching of a thousand headaches beating on his skull.

There were days where he would sit idly in a chair, casting little wisps of light into the air carelessly with a single flick of his fingers...

_Not_ stripped to the bone of his magic.

And what was this he was wearing? _Andraste's flaming knickers, a linen shift?! _How degrading...then again, perhaps that was the original intent of these Templars. Stars swam before his visions as a gauntleted hand struck his cheek, drawing thin lines of blood.

"Give us the name of the rebel mage."

Anders spat, "Well, if you had asked nicely, I would've considered it. Now, however? Not a chance."

Another blow, same cheek. _Maker's breath, that burns..._

"We know you are an accomplice, _mage_! Tell us the name, and you may keep your life." There were two Templars involved in this little interrogation. Good to know.

_It won't be a free life_. Anders licked his bruised lower lip, "Little boys shouldn't be going around seeking rank and glory. They should be chasing skirts and getting drunk off life."

Another blow, harder this time. Apparently his words had hit a sore spot. _Perhaps I shouldn't goad them so much. Damn it all, this smarts..._

"Perhaps he needs a little 'persuasion'," the first templar mused. Anders could already tell it wasn't going to be a night of drunken gossip for him as he heard the sound of something being wheeled over. Drawing what strength he had left, he turned to look and paled instantly. It was round and hollow, two halves connected by a rusty hinge on one side. Inside one hollowed half rested two nails, tips bloodied implying that they'd experienced recent use.

"Ahh, recognize this little contraption, do you?" One of Templars slapped his back, a mockery of a friendly gesture. "This one here's special though. See, it'll not only pierce your eyes, but it'll also drain you dry through it too. Wicked, isn't it?"

"Give us...the _name_."

Despite the despairing lurch of his stomach, the cold sweat breaking out over his body, he remained stubbornly silent. Tears of absolute fear ran down his face as he felt himself tremble violently. He was suddenly very grateful for the thin dress he was wearing; he wouldn't know what he'd do if he soiled his favorite set of robes. _Someone...save me!_

The table bearing the head of the Iron Maiden wheeled closer, and his breathing came out in shallow gasps, desperately grasping for a strand, for any strand of magic to protect himself with and finding nothing. At the point where the spikes drew so close that their tips were nothing but an indistinct blur in his vision, a third voice sounded.

"That is quite enough, men. This one would rather die before he reveals anything useful."

Anders almost laughed. He had never been so glad to see the Knight-Commander as he was then. If he hadn't been bodily restrained, he'd probably have collapsed in a heap on the floor from the entire ordeal.

"There are better ways to lure in one's prey, and we'll need his magic intact if our dear rebel mage were to find him. This mad dog will hang tomorrow...and his friends with him if they feel he's worth rescuing."

The execution was to be held at dawn in the Gallows courtyard, and everyone, even the city-dwellers beyond the channel, was invited to watch. Solona and Bethany stood within the crowd, concealed by hooded cloaks. The wounds on the former's legs still twinged a bit, the pain dulled by health draughts and yet strangely heightened by forced healing, but she had refused to remain behind when the news came to the Underground. Morrigan had bodily hauled her back by her collar when she nearly ran out on her own, muttering about her questionable state of mind and cursing her stubbornness, thrusting vial after vial into her hands.

"I won't even bother arguing. Drink this and this and this and this one especially. You _will _sit here and endure as I overcharge your body with excessive amounts of healing. Only after I am satisfied with how your body sustains the extra magic will we leave."

The experience was not something she ever wanted repeated. _But it was worth it, _she thought, _for Anders._

She let her eyes roam the area, noting the positions of two other mages as well as Morrigan, who had shifted into a crow and was daringly perched atop the gallows' crossbeam. They would act only if things got really ugly.

A low murmur was raised across the audience as Anders was led out of the dungeons, flanked by two Templars. His usually lustrous blond locks hung limply around his pale face, and his eyes remained blank as he stared at the ground beneath him, concentrating only on keeping one foot before the other. Solona felt her heart plummet. _They tried to break him_. She felt gentle fingertips against her right elbow before she realized she had taken an unconscious step forward.

"Patience, cousin, we still don't know what they're after," Bethany chided lightly.

"Citizens of Kirkwalll!" Alrik seemed to emerge from nowhere, a certain, foreboding bounce to his step, "It fills me with such joy to see you all here today. Know that the Kirkwall Chantry and the Kirkwall Tower of Magi will always be ever grateful for your support."

"Somebody sure is cheery today," Bethany grumbled.

"Now then!" Alrik clapped his hands, rubbing his hands today, and turning to Anders, who stood unseeing with the noose wrapped loosely around his neck. "What we have here is a _friend_ of our ever elusive rebel mage, one of her inner circle, and he knows that if he just gave us a name," here he gasped in mock dramatic wonder, "we'll let him walk free. Do you not agree that this is a simple solution?"

The crowd remained blessedly silent. Solona bit her lip. _Anders, just hold on a little longer..._

The Knight-Commander heaved a sigh, "But they never like to keep it simple, always wanting to do what they consider..._noble_." He walked over to a templar who stood nearby holding an open-faced box. Alrik made a show of rifling through the contents before drawing out two knives, one that looked normal, like a carving knife. The other looked...spoiled, rotting away as if something was corroding the blade. "This, as you all can see, is a paring knife," Alrik explained, holding up the normal looking blade, "and this _was_ a paring knife. I've come across an interesting group of travelers who claimed to have come from the Uncharted Territories to the South. They practice science, alchemy, an art that can be learned by normal, _non_-magical people. Because of this, children born with magic are superfluous and, since they're such a blight within their own society, are summarily executed."

Solona leaned over to Bethany, "The man's lying through his teeth, though for what reason I don't know. The people in the Territories are barbaric nomads, and they cherish all life there and embrace their magic folk. This 'alchemy' sounds like Antivan work to me."

Bethany frowned, "Why do you think that?"

"Because Antivans are masters at manipulating chemical compounds. They have the skill and the resources to turn anything into the deadliest poison…even lyrium."

"Lyrium," Bethany muttered, turning her attention back toward the odd-looking blade in Alrik's hand, "Yes, I thought that was what I sensed, but it feels...twisted."

"Morrigan's not liking it either." Still perched atop the gallows, the crow's feathers were fluffed up in clear agitation. She pecked at the wood with her beak, cawing madly.

"Now, which do you think is better for flaying?" Cries of outrage broke through the crowd, but he shrugged carelessly, "Unless someone is willing to tell me what I need to know or if the perpetrator would be kind enough to reveal herself... No?"

Anders cried out, mostly in shock, as one of the blades, the one that wasn't tainted, cut deeply into his bicep before drawing back and nicking the skin there.

"No one?"

Alrik cut again, this time near the back of his arm.

"It seems as if your friends have chosen to leave you for dead."

Another cut. And another. He was taunting them by not using the enchanted blade, keeping them on edge by appearing as if he were about to strike with it before suddenly switching hands.

Solona stood rigidly, her fists clenched at her sides, her body shaking with barely suppressed rage. Bethany's hand cinched around her elbow, keeping her back, and she snarled, "I have to do something. This is wrong!"

"Be reasonable! Even if you reveal yourself, it might not save your friend's life," the young Hawke urged.

"Knight-Commander!" A lone, authoritative voice sounded across the courtyard, "What is the meaning of this?"

Alrik looked up, and if possible his sadistic grin grew wider, "Ahh, yes...Knight Captain, so good of you to join us. As you can see here, I'm merely giving a demonstration-"

"What you are doing is committing crimes against humanity!" Cullen unsheathed his sword and made his way toward the platform, the people in front of him hastily moving aside. "Release the mage."

Solona's eyebrows rose, awed by his display of courage as well as sheer stupidity. Really, one Knight-Captain against at least a dozen other Templars? Did he have a death wish? ...and wasn't she just about to commit the same stupid act mere moments ago?

"So this is to be a public display as well then, is it?" Alrik lowered the knives he had in hand, stepping off the platform with a deliberately relaxed gait. "Very well then. Knight-Captain Cullen of Kinloch Hold, as the senior ranking knight present, I declare that you are hereby stripped of your title as Knight-Captain as well as removed from your duty as Templar."

Cullen narrowed his eyes, even as the other knights stood to flank him, "On what charges?"

"Conspiring with mages and mage supporters against the Order as well as witnessed accounts of fraternizing with the rebel mage," Alrik's grin turned absolutely feral, and Solona saw two Templars elbow each other behind him. They were unhelmed, and she recognized them immediately. Unfortunately she couldn't recall their names at all.

_Wilfred and Hespith? No. Willard and...Wilted Willis Wallace...Wiggums and Hoegaarden. There._

"Knights, please kindly escort Ser Cullen back to his rooms to retrieve his personal effects and show him out of the Gallows," came Alrik's command, laced with a giddy victory that Solona felt was rather premature_._

She turned to look at Cullen, surprised when she found him staring intensely at her as if he knew she was there all along. It was less than a moment when he let his eyes stray to the platform before returning to her, the corner of his lips curling in a roguish smirk that made her knees buckle.

With his chin held high, he glared at Alrik in defiance, his hand firmly clenched around the hilt of this sword. They say that it's always the quiet ones you need need to look out for, and no one, not the Templars nor the mages, felt the stirring of his Holy Smite until it was too late.

The knock back was significant, throwing Templars into the crowd and sending Alrik hurling into a corner of the platform, his unprotected headed bouncing off the wooden beams. Solona knew this was the moment to act, an opening Cullen provided for her to rescue Anders, and wasted no time. Even as Cullen defended himself against the recovering knights, Morrigan pecked away at the rope she had already partially shredded with her beak, and the two other accompanying mages helped haul the barely conscious Anders between them, all heading for the nearest ferryboat.

Bethany and Solona made to follow when an anguished cry caused the latter to stop and turn back, heart dropping at the sight of a greatsword being drawn out from between Cullen's pauldron and chestplate. She looked pleadingly at Bethany, who only pursed her lips and ordered her to watch herself before departing with the others.

The spectators were fleeing the scene in a chaotic rush to reach the boats and be ferried back across to the city. Solona watched the fight for a single moment, frowning as she considered her odds. Spell after spell flew through her mind, her fingers twitching involuntarily at her indecision. _Protect Cullen first._ If Cullen was taken by surprise at the flames that suddenly bathed the edge of his sword, he did not show it, nor did he display any outward acknowledgement that he received her defensive boosts.

"Well, well...what have we here?" Solona started, spinning around to defend herself, only to find herself whipped back, a stinging pain blooming across her cheek and the hood of her cloak knocked clean off her head, "It's the 'rebel mage', isn't it? Gave my boys quite the chase the other day."

She looked up, wincing a little at the pain, and saw Knight-Captain Karras looming over her, an ugly scar running down a mutilated eye and down his left cheek. She couldn't help the retort from leaving her lips, "I'm sure Alrik wasn't too pleased when you returned without me."

She shrieked as she was suddenly dragged up by the hair, her hairpin digging against her scalp as he spat right in her face, "Happy about that, are you?"

"Ecstatic, really," she managed through gritted teeth, tugging uselessly at his wrists even as her feet hovered above the ground.

She felt the concentration of willpower but couldn't brace herself in time, screaming as the Smite delivered at point blank range drained her dry in an instant. She flinched as he leaned toward her, his rancid breath hot against her face, "Oh, the things I could do to break you. Alrik isn't the only one who enjoys his pretty things..." He was leering at her, his eyes wandering hungrily across her nearly exposed breasts and bare midriff.

She loved Morrigan, she really did, and she loved that Morrigan had been willing to lend her a spare set of robes, her own having been singed, bloodied, and punctured to pieces by what was apparently tree roots. But why she favored these rags...robes...rag robes, Solona simply could not understand. _It's all Chasind to me._

Growling at the man's unwelcomed gaze, Solona pulled a few tricks from Isabela's book, bringing her foot back and launching it forward, catching Karras right where it hurt the most. When his hold on her hair loosened, she reared her head back and bashed it against the man's skull...

Something she immediately regretted trying as she was sent reeling back, landing ungracefully on her bum as she tried to regain her equilibrium.

"You whore-_bitch_! You'll pay for that!" A metal fist slammed unmercifully against her already bruised face, a plated boot kicking at her arm and side. There was another Smite, this one further away, as Cullen's fight grew more desperate. She clenched her fist, reaching deep within herself for even the tiniest drop of mana even as Karras lunged for her again. _There!_

The scream that tore through Karras's throat seemed almost unearthly as the dust around gathered up and down his throat, the sound of his shrill voice breaking with a gurgle as blood spewed out. _He had breathed too quickly_, Solona mused. She couldn't maintain the spell for very long, and it was with a desperate hope that whatever damage she did manage to do would send him into a slow, painful death. Sick men like him and Alrik deserved no less than the same torture they enjoyed inflicting upon others.

Solona picked herself up gingerly and noticed that Cullen had switched to his other arm, the injury to his shoulder greatly weakening his main sword arm. The hand not wielding a weapon was also pressed against his side, blood oozing out between his fingers. They couldn't go on like this for much longer. Solona dragged her feet one in front of the other, ignoring the pain and the swaying of her vision, using her momentum to bring herself to a clumsy run.

At the very last moment, at the feeling of having just enough mana once more, she changed, her right wing slightly bent but still strong, reaching with her talons and grabbing onto Cullen's uninjured arm and dragging him against the ground, flapping her wings wildly, building up speed and launching them both over the steep cliff and into the air. At first they hovered, her wings catching a solid draft before buckling dangerously, affected by the weight of man and armor, her own injured body, and the turbulent winds rushing past them in every direction. The area surrounding the Gallows was riddled with a sharp rocks. No matter how precariously she was gliding at the moment, so long as they cleared it, they would be safe...relatively. Maker only knew why she enjoyed living so much when dying just seemed so much simpler.

Her eagle couldn't hold for much longer. Right after the shade of the water deepened, nearly black in color, they fell, her body shifting immediately back into human. Granted it wasn't a far fall, considering how low she was flying, but it still hurt when they hit the water, the cold shocking her senses in an instant, and Cullen...Cullen was sinking. _Cursed templar armor!_ The freezing temperature of the water quickly numbed her of her discomforts, and she heaved in a lungful of air and dove under, kicking furiously as she tried desperately to reach the now ex-templar. It would be amusing, wouldn't it? One day someone would ask Varric hold Solona Amell died, and he'd have to tell the poor sod that she was consumed within the gaping maw of the Waking Sea, the makings of a perfect poetic tragedy.

She managed to get a firm grip on one of Cullen's pauldrons and kicked at the water to bring them both back up. It didn't look good; Cullen's eyes were shut, and his body was stiffening from the blood loss as well as the cold of the water multiplied tenfold by his armor. They broke above the surface but soon were pulled under again, and again, and again. Solona was running on her final vestiges of adrenaline, they were in the middle of the blasted sea, and there was no shore in sight. _Blasted damnation! I will _not _die here._

The last thing she remembered was the steady beat of large wings coming closer and closer before darkness overcame her.

Sensation and awareness returned at a sluggish pace, painfully reminding her thawing body that, yes, she did in fact have a full set of human appendages. She groaned audibly and felt something warm and soft beneath her head, her hair being brushed with gentle fingers, and heard a soothing hum of an achingly familiar lullaby sounding somewhere above her.

"You have done well. Sleep, my child."

When she awoke fully for the first time, Solona thought she had died. She opened her eyes and stared straight into a blazing campfire, blinking several times before sensing a presence...a rather large presence, resting against her back. When she raised her head, the only thing she could distinguish was a mass of shiny blood red scales.

"Flemeth?"

_Yes, child..._

"Oh," Solona blinked and rubbed her eyes, sighing as she curled up further against the heat of Flemeth's warm belly. She felt the dragon laugh, the low rumbling soothing her mind and body.

_You are always so reckless. You would have made a terrible vessel._

"Yes, well...you're welcome to it either way. I myself am thinking of retiring; all of these near death experiences are quite exhausting," Solona murmured drowsily. She had spoken with Morrigan about the trial just that morning, had shared in the fear of nearly losing her to Flemeth, but she couldn't bring herself to hate this Witch of the Wilds. She also knew that, despite Morrigan's misgivings, she too couldn't hate her Mother. She simply preferred being alive rather than the alternative.

_Your friend is healing quite well. He is very resilient._ The great dragon turned her head to look Solona in the eye, and Solona could've sworn she saw an amused twinkle there. _You have chosen well._

"Flemeth, we are not having this discussion no matter how much like a mother you are to me," Solona lifted herself reluctantly and made her way around the fire to where Cullen lay upon his inner tunic, the length of her cloak keeping him warm beside the fire. His armor was piled neatly near his feet. He slept, bare chest rising and falling steadily, and Solona saw that the wounds to his shoulder and his side had closed nicely.

_You have grown into yourself, little one. I am very proud of you._

Solona frowned at the dragon, "You would never praise Morrigan so."

_Morrigan and I are the same. I would not flatter myself with such prideful redundancy._

"I suppose not," Solona smiled and rounded the fire against, pressing a hand against the dragon's snout. For a breath of a moment, with the familiar comfort of home at her fingertips, her worries and fears shone brightly through her eyes, her wishes for the simple things once more, of Morrigan's stews, of Flemeth's stockings, of the small dangers in the Wilds, everything...she wanted it all back. The world was too vast, and she was tired, so very tired.

Flemeth bowed her great head, her large eye at level with Solona's, and in their bottomless depths, Solona saw a tear-stained face staring back at her.

_You are a small person bearing so much on her narrow shoulders. At any point you could have chosen to simply fly away, but you are not going to. I did not raise my daughters to leave tasks unfinished, to not hold true to their beliefs. I did not raise you to be weak-willed, hiding in your wretched insecurities._

_You are your own being, and you will face every trial with that inborn tenacity that carries you forward...ever forward, never back. We are Witches of the Wilds, dear one, and we will never let ourselves fall prey to despair._

Solona mulled over Flemeth's words. She never considered herself to be a strong person. She only ever did what she could to survive and to protect those around her. She never wished for a great destiny of any sort, but fate seemed intent on thrusting itself upon her despite her protests. She let out a heavy sigh, "But I really miss Morrigan's stews."

The dragon laughed, _Oh Solona, that you can still joke about such things reinforces my confidence that you will be just fine. _The beast rose and stretched, and Solona moved back to give her space to spread her wings. _Time for me to head back, I suppose. I had my own stew bubbling away happily when you decided today might be a good day to die. Now my hut is likely to have burned down._

Large nostrils flared and blew a gust of air into Solona's face, and she laughed in response.

_Laugh, my heart. Always, always laugh._

And she was gone. Solona kept her head raised, following the dragon's movement with her eyes. Long ago, she and Morrigan flew beside her, traveling across all of Thedas. All she had left were memories, but for now it was enough.

She pouted. Now with Flemeth gone, the chill was returning. She hopped on the balls of her feet and rubbed her arms. Between herself and Cullen, Solona only had her cloak for a cover, the cloak that was currently wrapped snugly around the former templar. Perhaps if she...she glanced at Cullen and a bright blush flooded her cheeks. _Ehh, he wouldn't mind too much, and if he protests, I'll just say he looked cold._

Solona marched over with resolve, lying down under the cloak that covered him, and rested her head against his uninjured shoulder, mindful of the scar on his side. What she didn't anticipate was his body's immediate response, and she squeaked as he turned over and drew her closer within his arms, his even breaths warm against her temple. It was soothing, as was the heartbeat against her ear, and she was slowly lulled into a deep sleep.

Cullen was the first to wake, stirring slightly at the chilled air against his back. The fire had died a few hours ago, wisps of smoke still rising above the pit. He furrowed his brows, trying to remember everything that had happened. He recalled the fight at the Gallows, of feeling his heart stop every time he heard Solona cry out. He remembered soaring through the air, a golden eagle barely able to support the both of them gliding precariously above him. He remembered drowning, of seeing her desperately reaching for him. Then darkness.

Something still wasn't right. He glanced down and saw a dark head of hair, noticing for the first time the feeling of his arms wrapped around a slender waist, the beckoning scent of Andraste's Grace tickling his nose and the softness of womanly curves pressed against his body. So far being an ex-templar seemed to have its perks.

The junction between her neck and shoulder lay bare to his gaze, and he had the sudden urge to taste the skin there. With the sudden weightlessness that came with the absence of duty, the lingering knowledge that he might've died...that they both might've died, along with her heady aroma coupled with the feel of her warm body pressed up against his, Cullen knew that any resistance was futile. Giving into the temptation, he pressed a gentle kiss there, and another, and another. She inhaled and exhaled with a single moan, a sound dangerous enough to set his loins aflame.

"Cullen," Maker, a voice like that should be forbidden, and he drank it in greedily. He felt when she started feathering tiny kisses across his chest and let his hands roam freely down her rounded backside, slipping his hand under a thigh to bring her leg up over his, rolling his hips against hers, causing her to arch deliciously against him. "_Cullen!_"

With his fingers, he tipped her chin back to look at her face, that same beautiful face that he found himself enraptured with almost immediately when they had first met. She blinked at him, her eyes still half-lidded in sleep. He looked haloed against the backdrop of the dawning day. "Am I dreaming?"

"Do you often dream of me?" Cullen asked, that knee-weakening smirk on his face.

Solona hummed in affirmation, a lazy smile on her face as she tried to snuggle back into him before stiffening and looking back up at him with wide eyes, "I'm not dreaming."

"No," he raised his hand to caress her cheek, watching as her eyelids fluttered in response, "you're not." He reached for the back of her head where he knew his gift lay and tugged it out, bringing it closer to his face so he could examine it. The memory of seeing her walk side by side with another man flashed before his eyes, and he looked down, unable to meet her stare. "Though you may not realize it, Solona, you've stolen your way into my every thought since that very first day. I saw-if there is already someone...if you are spoken for, lady, please tell me now," he forced out, willing his face to remain neutral.

Solona blinked, "There is no one...that I am aware of," her brows lifted with her offered choice of words, the tone of her voice rising in question at his implications.

She laughed when she felt Cullen visibly relax, "Oh, thank the Maker. It's just that I saw...err, that is...you seemed familiar with another Templar. I thought..." he trailed off helplessly.

It took a moment, but it wasn't long before she made sense of everything, "Oh, you mean Carver?" Cullen winced, and she had to stifle her giggle, "Carver is my cousin." It still felt odd saying it, but Solona had grown fond of Carver within the last few days, which took a bit of the strangeness away.

There was a beat followed by another while Cullen processed this new information. "Oh. Oh! You are...and I was foolish to think-"

Warm lips pressed insistently against his, and he responded immediately with a groan, rolling her beneath him. She pulled his lower lip in between hers, sucking on it gently before letting it go with a slight graze of her teeth, "You were saying?" The chit had the nerve to smirk.

Cullen smiled, laying the precious hairpin beside them, "I was _saying_ that you are my savior and...absolutely the most amazing woman I've ever known." He looked at her then, and her heart melted at the expression on his face. "May I?" Solona wasn't sure what she was agreeing to, but his face held such promise that was impossible to deny. He lowered himself, nosing away the fabric concealing her breasts, his breath puffing lightly against a nipple, causing it to pebble as she bit her lip. "I would pay homage to my goddess and salvation so long as she'll have me."

His mouth descended upon her breast, and she mewled in ecstasy. Suddenly, she found herself extremely grateful that these were the spare robes that Morrigan owned. She felt tingles everywhere their skin touched, and it felt wonderful, light, and absolutely filled with a passion she had never experienced before. She wasn't quite sure where she was going, where he was taking her, but it simply felt right. And to be honest, she never felt more alive.

A hand wandered down her side, and she arched up into him, pressing her breast more firmly against his mouth. The muscles in her leg tensed as he ran his nails under the curve of her derrière and down the back of her thigh, and she hissed, fingers automatically reaching up to rake her fingers through his scalp. He hissed in response, and she shivered. Her wrists were caught in his hands, and she blinked in surprise at the action.

Maker, that smirk will be the death of her. "These stay here, love," he said huskily. His eyes burned a deep, amber glow, his pupils dilated with lust. Her own eyes widened, and she found herself incredibly aroused by his dominant behavior.

He returned to lavishing her with attention, kissing her deeply and hiking up the skirt of her robe while trailing kisses down past her navel. His progress was achingly slow, and she groaned in frustration at the pleasure of anticipation. The moment his tongue swept over the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex was marked by a keen wail and involuntary buck of her hips. He continued, holding her down at the hip while tongueing and stroking at the sensitive flesh with deliberate slowness until she spasmed, her breathing harsh as her body shuddered in orgasm.

She was barely off her high when she felt something significantly thick press against her entrance, and she gazed up at him with hooded eyes, nodding in encouragement at his silent query. In a single thrust, he broke the thin membrane that marked her maidenhood and sheathed himself fully inside, Stars burst behind her eyes as she tossed her head back, whimpering his name.

He wasn't moving.

He blinked at her, "You...I was your first?"

She furrowed her brows, wondering at his concern, "It didn't hurt," she smiled reassuringly.

"I was your first."

Solona cocked her head, but before she could voice her thoughts, his lips met hers with an animalistic growl as he began thrusting into her with fervor. He was all passion and primal instinct, driving into her relentlessly, nipping at her chin, nibbling at her shoulder, and engulfing a breast in his hot mouth. Solona was burning, every touch searing her skin. He changed the angle of their coupling, driving himself deeper and faster until she came shuddering beneath him.

With little pause, she was lifted up into his arms, her body limp from her orgasm, and she nearly screamed in sheer pleasure as he thrust up into her again. She tried matching his rhythm, bringing her hips down as he drove up into her, but her legs felt jellied and utterly useless. She came again as he bit into her shoulder, her inner walls tightening around him at the mix of pleasure and pain.

He groaned and pushed on, moving her down on all fours as he surged into her from behind. His tempo increased, and he angled her just so, hitting that secret spot that had her unraveling at the seams, ripping a scream from her throat even as he moaned her name and spilled his hot release within her.

She didn't dare move, her body completely spent, waiting for her heart rate to settle and her breathing to return to normal. He fell rather gracelessly onto his side, drawing her in against him, both of them hot and sticky despite the weather but neither the least bit concerned.

"I've heard that the first time usually hurts for the woman and often leaves them unsatisfied," she said, watching his face draw into that delicious smirk of his. "I will learn your secrets, ser."

He chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his chest, and Solona couldn't help but think of how incredibly sexy it sounded. He fumbled for words in his mind before gradually acknowledging the fact that nothing could be said to describe the sheer magnitude of all he felt, the sensation of all the pieces fitting together seamlessly...completion. Cullen knew that it wasn't love, not yet anyway, but the potential was there. There were too many disrupting factors in their lives for anything like love to flourish in this time of turmoil. But given the opportunity, he would without hesitation venture down that avenue with her were she willing.

Solona's eyes had already slipped closed against her will. Cullen's smirk smoothed down into a soft smile as he regarded this woman, this woman who had completely turned his life upside down. Had it really been only half a month since he met her? It felt so strange and yet so new and exciting and wonderful…

And in that moment, he prayed to the Maker and Andraste above for a future.


	7. 7: Gratias Agimus Tibi

_A/N: I meant to put this as a footnote for the last chapter, but yes...yes, I do like my Cullen with a little extra seasoning...if you know what I mean. *waggles eyebrows*_

_So, I'm in a terrifically productive mood this week (and equally exhausted from everything I've been doing). Ergo I've decided to post this one a little early. I'll still try to get another chapter out either this Thursday or Friday, but we'll see how that goes._

_I do feel the need to warn you, however, that things will turn significantly dark as the story progresses...you know, darkness before dawn type of thing. Smut aside, this story was rated M for good reason. _

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 7: Gratias Agimus Tibi

Anders was sitting up in bed, his shoulders slouched and his back bent. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused, even as small blue wisps of healing light floated above the hands that lay limp in his lap.

"He has been like that since he awoke," Morrigan explained, standing behind Solona within the doorway, her arms crossed in a display that clearly meant 'I am still angry with you.'

Solona nodded wearily. It had been a long day, the trek back to Kirkwall with Cullen from where they assumed was the Wounded Coast taking up most of her morning. She had explained Sebastian's plan concerning Starkhaven's support, and Cullen had suggested that he would remain above ground to watch for the Prince's return. They found an abandoned home near the outskirts of Lowtown. It looked like it had been vacated recently, but neither of them wanted to consider what the templars may have done to the family that had once lived there. After he had deemed the location to be an acceptable post, Solona left. Alright, that was a lie. She may or may not have lingered for a little while, but she blamed their lack of urgency on Cullen's ever wandering hands.

Afterward it had taken a bit of searching to find a member of the Mage Underground, a merchant who had recognized her and directed her to an entrance behind his shop. Then she had gotten lost and managed to walk in circles for a very, very long time. It was only by chance that one of the sentinels patrolling the area at the time offered to escort her the rest of the way. And _then_, of course, Morrigan had slapped her in front of _everyone_, scolding her for foolishly running off on her own.

Now she was tired, hungry, and filthy, and she really wanted to slap Anders on the back and congratulate him on a job well done...except that, in his current state, it might leave him a bit touched. Solona sighed, willing all the tension to leave her shoulders and nodded to Morrigan, who departed quietly, shutting the door with a gentle click. Anders seemed unaware of it all, so absorbed by his little blue wisps.

Solona made her way slowly toward him, sinking to sit at the edge of the cot near his feet while thinking of what to say. The wisps stopped in their movement. "I want to die." It was little more than a whisper, but it was a start.

"Me too."

Anders said nothing for a long time. Solona let her gaze drift over the room. Her things had been moved here, sitting on a small table in the corner of the room. She also noticed hers and Anders' staves leaning against the wall, though how the Mage Underground was able to find them was beyond her.

"They did it to Marian, you know. They poisoned her. They almost did that to me," the memory of the iron maiden's helm being wheeled ever closer to his face left him shuddering. The uncertainty of which blade Alrik would use to cut him with forced his jaw to tighten as he clenched his eyes shut. It had been terrifying, the knowledge that, at any moment, he would've been stripped from his magic. The constant shift between horror and relief between each strike drained him of his energy. Solona reached up, but Anders flinched, shying away from her touch. "I almost thought you wouldn't come. You weren't even there to help me yourself. You had to go save that blighted _Templar_, didn't you? It was that one Knight-Captain, wasn't it?"

"He stood up for you-"

"You just wanted to fuck him! You'd been watching him the whole time and left me! _I _stood up for you! I never told them _anything_! And you _never came for me_!" Spittle flew from his mouth, his teeth bared and clenched, his body shaking with half-crazed rage. "You _slept_ with him! I can see it in your face. You chose that _Templar_ and betrayed me."

Solona winced but maintained a calm demeanor, knowing there was no reasoning with him now. He was too angry, too hurt to be thinking clearly. She understood that. "I am sorry, Anders," she looked down at his hands, clenching and in clenching in his lap. "Do you hate me now?"

_Yes!_ he wanted to say, his lips twisting, the tendons in his neck straining, nostrils flaring, as he dug his fingers into his palms, drawing the slightest bit of blood. _I hate you! I wish you were dead! I wish Alrik would kill you! _"...N-no..." It came out as a strangled sob, his chest hitching. He couldn't stand it anymore; the frustration of the long hours spent in the Gallows dungeon in absolute fear had taken its toll, and he would soon either burst into a violent frenzy or...or... It was when Solona drew him close, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, that the dam broke, and he wailed against her collarbone, his hands digging harshly into the cloth and skin at her back. She cooed against his ear, her fingers gently stroking his hair as she rocked them back and forth, her own tears falling silently as she mourned for her friend who had suffered so much...and all to protect her.

His sobbing eventually subsided, reduced to hiccuping breaths as they lay side by side, his arms wrapped around her waist, ear pressed against her bosom, and his mind calming down with the sound of her steady heartbeat. "You know, I'm not very fond of being killed by jealous boyfriends. If your new Templar lover saw us lying together like this, I will place the blame entirely on you. Don't get me wrong; I'm quite flattered by your forwardness and am, uh, rather enjoying the view, and Maker, you've never worn _these _robes before! But...volatile and impulsive mages aren't really my type."

"Anders?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut. Up." Solona was already halfway in the Fade, and only thing likely to drag her out of it would be the promise of a hot bath, not this silly mage who deprived her of precious sleep.

Anders later woke up much later to the sound of the door creaking open and then closing with a click. Solona was holding a sheet to her body as she looked for anything she could hang her damp clothing on. Her wet hair clung to her face and neck, and the sheet was barely large enough to fold over once. She couldn't help but wonder if anyone saw her in all of her immodesty on her way in, but overall she didn't care. She was _clean_!

"Ugh, will you stop that?"

Solona blinked, "Stop what?"

Anders made several incomprehensible gestures that involved flailing arms, "The whole walking around nearly-naked thing. It's entirely inappropriate!"

"Am I offending your sensibilities?" she smirked.

"I will have you know that my sensibilities are and will forever remain sensible!" Anders said in mock vehemence.

Solona turned to face him, and with a sad smile she responded, "Good."

"You owe me a new set of healers robes."

"Alright."

"And a new clinic-"

"Here's your manifesto."

"And if I end up turning into a hyper-emotional wreck with a split personality and a skewed sense of justice for mages, I blame-what?"

Solona pulled the slightly worn and damp journal from her pack and held it out to him. He almost didn't take it, thinking with certainty that she was having him on. "I managed to grab a few more things as well," she went on, pulling out the vials and herbs and organizing them neatly on the ground.

"You...you went back for my manifesto," he seemed troubled. He had heard from another mage, Bethany, that they had found her being chased and cornered in the Darktown clinic, that she nearly hadn't made it out before Karras blew the place up, and that she had been severely injured by a spell that should've been cast by a better controlled mage. That she would risk going back to get his manifesto..."why?"

Solona titled her head, a bemused smile on her face, "It's important to you, is it not?" Of course it was important to Anders; it was his life's work. But still he hadn't considered it to be worth anyone's life save his own. He watched as she shrugged, turning to wring out the water from her clothes, "That and I couldn't have Alrik finding it and then tracing it back to you."

"I'm sorry." Solona peeked up at him, seeing just how upset he was, and waited. His shoulders were slumped forward in resignation, all the fight and anger from their previous argument erased within a single moment. He traced the worn leather binding of his journal, edges frayed from the harsh elements of Darktown. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

She was the bigger person here. He always assumed she was just in it for the glory, to be recognized. He forgot that this was Solona, a woman who stepped outside her comfort zones constantly, who acted to protect others, to protect him, to-

Anders squawked and sputtered when the damp cloth impacted his face head-on. When he peeled away the material to take a closer look, he reddened and sputtered some more, flinging the skimpy breast band as far away from his person as possible. Solona burst out in raucous laughter, doubling over at the waist. He scowled at her, but the slight upward tilt at the corner of his lips gave away his mirth. Soon both mages were sharing their amusement at the utter ridiculousness of the whole thing.

Laugh. Always laugh.

.

.

.

"You know," Isabela mused, skipping a sovereign idly across her fingers. She was sitting with her legs propped up on a writing desk, her mud of her boots oozing down to meet the marble top. Carver knew he should be scolding her for it, but he was more preoccupied by staring at the shadowed area between her thighs. "It would be wonderful to know just what goes on in that little head of hers. She could, you know, _write_ every once in a while to let us know how she's doing, if she needs extra money, if she's stuck in a ditch somewhere..."

Varric snorted, dragging a cleaning rag down Bianca's length, "If you keep smothering her, she'll never learn to be independent." He glanced up as Isabela frowned and sank lower in her seat, giving Carver a generous eyeful. "Relax, Rivaini. Amell's a big girl. She can take care of herself, and Blondie's most likely with her. They'll be fine."

"I have to agree with Serrah Tethras," Marian said, descending with graceful ease down the stairs to join them before the fire. She waved a hand at Isabela's feet, likely to hex it, but her hand stopped partway and clenched into a tight fist. She unceremoniously shoved the pirate's feet off the table instead. "If my cousin was able to fend off a number of templars on their own grounds, then I have no doubt of her abilities."

Varric frowned. His contacts had rushed the news of the execution to him as quickly as they could, but the last boat had already left by the time they had raced madly to the Docks. Isabela had screamed and cursed, kicking the ground and punching the air in a wild display of dramatics. When the templars who had been posted at the pier for inspection turned and stared, she let out a frustrated "_What?!_" and flung a dagger at one of them, which then turned into a brawl between themselves and half a dozen templars. Isabela had calmed down significantly after that. Still they should've made it. They should've been there to save Blondie.

Varric noticed the slight slip in his usual usual veneer of indomitable cheeriness and quickly shook off his feelings of failure.

"Aww," a voice sounded from the kitchen door, "what's with all the long faces? Did we miss the party?"

"_You_!" Isabela hissed, springing up from her chair and rushing at the mage.

Solona was expecting a slap, _not _a right hook. _Blight-infested pirates!_

"Welcome back, Amell," Varric chuckled and nodded toward Isabela, "had some of us worried for a while there."

Solona, after favoring her poor, injured jaw, _Isabela used her gauntleted hand too, the bitch..._smiled back at the dwarf as best she could, giddy with joy at seeing her friends again, despite the swelling bruise she felt rising on her cheek. "Did you doubt me?"

"Not for a moment." There was a twinkle in the dwarf's eye, and he winked at her.

Isabela gasped, her anger completely forgotten at the sight of Solona's choice of attire, grasping the mage by the arm and spinning her around in a circle, "Where did you get _those_?"

Solona rolled her eyes, "It was borrowed."

"I wonder if they make them in my size," Isabela muttered, a finger tapping her chin thoughtfully as she fingered the fine quality leather of her skirt.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about me," Anders said, rounding the corner, "Miss Sparkle Fingers got too excited and ran up the rest of the way." Two heavy and long parcels were strapped securely on his back; so he had to duck to get through the doorway.

Isabela strode forward and embraced him, taking the opportunity to whisper a soft apology in his ear. Anders turned his attention toward Varric, who for once lowered his eyes, "It's good to have you back, Blondie."

"It's good to be back," the mage replied. He nodded at the dwarf, acknowledging the words that remained unspoken.

"Solona Amell."

All present turned as Marian glided across the room, her posture regal, and her hands folded nearly before her. Solona's eyes widened in surprise, hardly believing that this was the near broken mage they had rescued from Alrik's sadism. Seeing her now, she could clearly sense the power that this woman commanded, not just in magic but also in authority, and it felt right to acknowledge her as the family matriarch.

"Messere Hawke," Solona said softly, dipping in a low and respectful curtsy.

"There is no need to be so formal, Solona. we are family after all," Marian laughed and tipped the other woman's chin up with a finger, running her bright blue eyes across her cousin's face, "Carver was right. You do favor Aunt Revka."

Solona smiled, feeling for the first time in her life a certain sense of homecoming just from listening to Marian's voice alone. "There is someone..." she turned, gesturing to...wait, where…? Solona peeked behind the door and found the person in question hiding just behind it. "You're brave enough to help me rescue Anders but aren't brave enough to face your own family?" she joked, laughing, "Get out here."

Bethany squeaked, vainly tugging back the arm that was being dragged out into the light.

"Bethany…?"

With a nervous laugh, Bethany inclined her head, "Hello, sister...Carver." And for once, even Carver was rendered speechless. He walked forward, his steps wooden, raising a shaking hand to touch Bethany's face, not at all believing she was real and alive.

"But," he looked so terribly young then, his eyes gleaming with emotion, "I saw you. Y...you died."

Bethany opened her mouth and closed it several time, unsure of what to say. Varric gestured to the others, and they began making their way to the study, leaving the Hawke siblings to have their moment. Anders unbuckled the two bundles he carried and rested them against the wall. He let his hand brush reassuringly against Bethany's back before joining his friends.

When they were alone, Bethany began hesitantly, "It wasn't your fault." The statement was directed at Marian, who stood there tight lipped, her hands fisting at her sides. "Sister, there was nothing you could've done."

"And you couldn't have told us sooner?" Marian bit out. Her tone was accusatory, but Bethany didn't let it faze her. Her sister was struggling to keep it together, and she understood that.

"I...we weren't allowed."

"'We'?"

It was Carver who spoke, and Bethany took his hand in comfort, "The apostates of this city formed a resistance group years ago. They found me after the ogre…" she bit her tongue as her siblings visibly flinched, "Well, I've been with them since. We weren't allowed to contact anyone not associated with the Underground. Better to say we died rather than risk exposure to the Templars."

"I've heard of them," Marian said. She took a deep steady breath, exhaling all the tension from her shoulders. She rested her gaze on her sister, expression unreadable, "You were well taken care of?"

Bethany shrugged, a humorless grin on her pretty face, "As well as a fugitive mage can be, I suppose."

Marian nodded, her eyes softening. She watched as her sister tilted her head like how she used to when they were younger, the hopeful look in her eye asking forgiveness for being away for so long. "Come here, love." Bethany practically leapt forward into her sister's arms, a sob issuing from her lips as she let all pressure and pain of being alone for all these years leave her body in a cathartic release. Marian soothed her, rubbing her back comfortingly, "Shh...shh, my dear sister. I've got you. We're together now." Tears slid down Marian's cheek as well as she held out a hand to Carver, who was failing miserably at keeping his own tears at bay, and they all stood there in each other's embrace, crying over the years that had been lost and laughing over the years they've now gained.

Meanwhile, in the study…

"So," Solona smirked at Anders, "you and Bethany, huh?" The other mage shifted uncomfortably. "May I ask when that happened? I must've been blind the entire walk back up here."

"No, you may not," came the curt response. Varric chuckled from his place near the fire.

Isabela was still staring at Solona and tapping her chin. "Is there something on my face?"

"No," Isabela frowned, glaring at the other woman as if she were a particularly difficult puzzle she couldn't figure out, "there's something different about you. You wouldn't normally carry yourself this well in clothes like those. You'd usually reek of self-consciousness."

Solona looked down at Morrigan's old robes and shrugged, "Well, I did grow up wearing a similar set."

Anders blinked, "You mean _that _Morrigan is your Morrigan? Wow."

"I know it's a little hard to believe..."

"No, not at all," Anders interrupted. "No wonder you're such a..."

"No, that's not it," Isabela groaned.

Solona thought back, "Well, I did get shot out of the sky, nearly blown apart by some kind of bomb, was stabbed multiple times by entangling tree roots, smote by Knight-Captain Karras, almost drowned in the Waking Sea..."

"Amell, how you managed to live through everything is something we're going to have to over in detail later," Varric laughed.

Solona blinked, realizing then just how many times she had narrowly escaped death. It was rather fantastical, wasn't it? Either she really had the best of dumb luck, or the Maker really had it out for her.

"So I almost got my eyes gouged out by poisoned lyrium tipped spikes and had been cut several times," Anders added, "but you still win."

Solona was about to respond when Isabela gave a triumphant shout, "You got laid!" which only escalated to a taunting laugh at the bright shade of crimson that instantly bloomed over Solona's cheeks. "Was it some rogue mage who finally curled your toes?"

"Ha!" Anders grunted. "Hardly. It was rather the exact opposite of a mage."

"A Templar then? Oh, how delicious," Isabela gasped with glee, "You got a templar to praise your Maker!"

"Isabela..." Solona groaned, pressing her hands against her cheeks to hide her deepening blush.

The door opened then, admitting the three Hawkes. Marian lay the new bow she received from Bethany against the wall while Carver had already strapped his new greatsword on his back. The eldest turned to Solona, regarding her with solemn eyes, "Bethany tells me you have a plan."

Solona turned serious as well, "Yes, it's time we ended all of this."

Anders only half-listened, knowing already that Solona and a few other mages would draw Alrik out from the Gallows by releasing what was left of the Circle mages and guiding the templars on a false trail. Then the Mage Underground and the citizens would engage Alrik and his templars at the Chantry. Starkhaven's troops were expected to arrive any day now, and when they did, they would flank the Knight-Commander's knights. That would be the end of that.

Anders knew all of this, so he opted to watch Bethany instead as she stood behind her sister. When she turned to find him staring at her, she smiled shyly, a pink blush staining her nose and cheeks. She had been the one to heal him after rescuing him from the Gallows, the one bright spot amidst all the bitterness he harbored at the time.

"Sebastian went back to Starkhaven," Marian repeated slowly, her voice small, after Solona had explained her plan. She seemed wistful and was grateful when Bethany took her hand and squeezed gently.

This did not escape Solona's notice, "He rode back after I told him you were safe." A secret smile stole across Marian's face briefly then before it was immediately replaced by practiced indifference.

"How many men can we expect?" Carver asked.

"At a moment's notice, at least fifty strong," she said. Carver nodded, and for a long while there was only silence as everyone took it all in.

"Are you sure don't want to just leave and never come back?" Isabela's voice broke through the group's somber mood, "I hear Amaranthine's quite lovely this time of year."

Solona laughed, "Wonderful idea, 'bela, but I'm staying here. Alrik's hurt enough people already."

Isabela sighed, slouching in her seat and leaning her head back. "You take me to all the nicest places," she groaned.

"That's that then," Marian said with finality. "Let us call it a night. Carver and I shall see to your accommodations for the evening."

Marian made her way back to the study after everyone else had settled in for the evening, where she found Varric still sitting in her high back chair, gazing into the fire. His fingers were laced together and held against his jaw as he turned to her, eyes following her movements. "Your rooms have been prepared, Master Tethras."

"There's no need for any of that, Hawke," he smirked a little before his expression hardened. "It's been five years. Was it worth it?"

Marian took a seat in the chair across from him, mirroring his example by staring at the same fire. "Would you have done the same were you in my place?" she asked.

"Probably," Varric said with a little nod, "though I might've given up early on. I'm not sure I'd been able to sacrifice as well as you have."

"It was the right thing to do." The conviction in her voice brought a smile to the storyteller's face, his mind wandering back to a distant time when an entire city once stood upon the foundation of her convictions. "And now we have Solona Amell, who isn't mucking about it as much as I once was."

Varric chuckled, "Give yourself a little credit, Hawke. None of us would've managed as well as you did on your own. You Amells are made of stronger mettle than the rest of us."

"Thank you, my friend."

Solona sighed as she sunk into the large bed in one of the guest rooms. She had never slept on something so soft before, and Maker help her, she never wanted to leave. Even the silk sleeping shift she had borrowed from one of her cousins felt divine against her skin. Her imagination wandered for a moment, and in her mind Cullen knocked on her door and entered, shock slowly replaced with desire in his eyes as they raked her form... Solona giggled and buried her head into the feather down pillows.

But the knocking was real. Solona sprang up from bed and swung her feet over the edge and rushing out into the hallway. Varric, Isabela, and Carver were already at the top of the stairs, armed to the teeth, and Marian was already on her way down to open the door. Anders joined the group shortly after, and Bethany followed behind, still dressed in her sleeping gown and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Solona clutched at the banister as something tugged at her senses. She focused on it, the smell of power..._lyrium_...

"Marian, stop!" The cry came too late as Marian unlocked the door and was nearly bowled over by the intruding templars. "Blasted damnation!" Solona charged a ball of lightning between her hands as Varric shot a volley of arrows. Carver leapt down from the second floor, crushing the helm of a templar with the downward blow of his sword.

"Bethany!" Anders grabbed at the other mage's arm, preventing her from joining in the fighting and whispering harshly into her ear, "go back to the Underground. Tell them the estate's been compromised. Go!"

Bethany hesitated for a second before nodding grimly. She thought quickly, rushing into the other rooms, grabbing Solona and Anders' staves before melting the locks to their rooms. Reentering her bed chambers, she melted her own lock and shouldered her staff, hefting the others under her arms. She brushed her fingers lightly along the wall, knowing for certain there was panel there some-there!

She pushed against it, and it creaked open noisily. The passage behind it was used by servants years ago back in her great grandfather's time. Bethany moved quickly, and even as she pulled the small door shut behind her, she heard the sounds of metal boots marching down the hallway. The others must've been captured by now.

_Maker, guide my family_, Bethany prayed, _show them mercy in their time of peril and bring them safely back to me._


	8. 8: Miserere Nobis

_A/N: Dark._

* * *

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 8: Miserere Nobis

Solona could feel consciousness slowly returning. She would normally consider the sensation odd, how it felt like she had spent an eternity hovering above her own body before sinking back in by degrees, as if being drowned in quicksand, but given how many times she'd experienced it in recent days, quite frankly she simply did not give a single damn anymore. At this point, she would gladly trade an out-of-body experience for a full day of just sleeping and eating and an absolute lack of psychotic Templars peering out from around every blighted corner.

Her eyelids felt heavy as she tried prying them open. She gazed out in front of her, only able to make out dark, blurry moving figures against a dull orange light before sudden pain blossomed on her left cheek, whipping her head sideways with a harsh jerk. "Rise and shine, beautiful…"

That voice, she knew that voice. _Oh, of course…Williker's Wilted Willie_, she thought, _Well, Wil-_something! Her eyelids peeled back slowly, and she squinted at his face as her vision came into focus, noticing first the result of her handiwork from their first meeting. "Love what you've done with your nose."

The rage that flared from behind his eyes was her only warning before he backhanded her injured cheek, drawing blood with the sharp ends of his gauntlet. "I would curb your tongue if I were you, _dog_. The smart-mouthed ones never last down here."

"Idle threats from a bootlicker," Solona spat, staining the templar's chestplate with blood and spittle, "Come back when you've grown a pair."

Willie reared back to backhand her again, and Solona braced herself for the impact. "That would be quite enough, Wilmod."

_Wilmod! That was it!_ Solona cheered inwardly. She would thank Alrik, but that would seem strange...stranger than usual anyway.

She felt cold metal fingers pinching her chin and turning her head left and right, a voicing tsking in disapproval, "Wilmod, this is sloppy work. You never draw blood until the very last moment. You also never let them anticipate the blow. It makes their pain all the sweeter." A swift kick to her chest had her sprawled down on the filthy prison floor, gasping for the air that had been knocked out of her. "You see? Now string her up and leave us."

Solona was still doubled over in pain when her arms were pulled harshly above her head, rusty shackles securing her wrists to a single sturdy chain hanging from the ceiling. Her feet barely reached the ground, the tips of her toes just brushing against the rough, molded stone beneath her. A leather band was affixed around her neck, and she felt it like a door being slammed shut between her and her magic. She watched as Wilmod saluted Alrik respectfully and left the room, but not before throwing her a malicious grin.

Desperate fear shone from her too wide eyes, and the question sprang unbidden from her lips, "What is this?"

"Do you like your new necklace?" the Knight-Commander chuckled darkly. "It's a new piece I had commissioned. You have the honor of being my first test subject."

Solona's breathing grew shallow. Maker, if this was what being Tranquil felt like, a complete cut from something...something that had been a part of her whole life, her entire being...oh, blessed Andraste, it was as if a dark chasm now separated her from her magic, and no matter how far she reached, even as the presence of it tingled against her senses, she couldn't grasp it. Being Smote by Templars was nothing compared to this horrific nightmare.

"Now then, my dear," Alrik grinned, "you've been quite the thorn in my side since that..._interesting_ Satinalia festival, don't you think? Perhaps I should teach you..." Solona flinched but remained silent, more shocked than pained by the immediately burning heat of a serrated blade drawing against the skin of her back, "to learn your place." A large, cold jaw filled with razor sharp teeth clamped down onto her side and ripped away the flesh there. Her eyes widened and she groaned, her body shuddering and breaking out in cold sweat. She felt her senses reeling, but no matter how hard she willed it, her body would not slip back into the unconscious state it was in earlier. Alrik laughed, "Such a delightfully high tolerance! Many others would have shrieked like the void spawn banshees they are. I should've caught you sooner, mage."

"You. Bastard!" Solona bit out.

"My mother was a mage, you know," Alrik stated casually, as if they were two acquaintances conversing over a glass of brandy. "She was the very first I saved from the curse of magic. There were many others after. Most of them never came close to submitting to the will of the Maker, much like your friend, the, um...former Viscountess Hawke." He seemed much too happy with the look of bewilderment she wore behind the haze of pain. "She hadn't told you?

She was named Viscountess of Kirkwall after she defeated that qunari beast and drove the rest of the cattle out of the Free Marches. There was a whole ceremony for the Viscountess and the Starkhaven brat and the alliance of our cities," Alrik paced around Solona, and she was certain that he was beginning to foam at the mouth as he spoke. "No one saw what I saw, the threat of magic in a seat of power. No one saw the corruption and doom she would bring to us all."

Solona could only watch with wide eyes as mysteries unveiled themselves before her, "You labeled her as an apostate and brought her into the Circle."

"Yessss," the acidic word slid off his tongue.

"You stripped her of her magic-"

"I _cured_ her of her corruption," Alrik laughed, a victorious bark. "I'll have to admit, the dungeons have been feeling rather empty since you stole her from me, but no matter. I have you to play with now." He stepped up behind her, and she shuddered when she felt his breath against her shoulder. "Such a pretty little toy," his lips brushed teasingly against her skin. "I would so hate to see it..." She jerked back, a ragged gasp drawn from her lungs, as he bit down hard and at the same time pressed a heated iron brand against the soft flesh of her hip, "marred."

_Oh, Maker, save me…_

"Heal yourself," Alrik commanded.

Solona blinked through the haze of pain. _What?_ She never had the patience to learn the Creation Arts. Did he really think all mages were…

She hissed as he pressed the brand deeper into her skin, and she could smell the burning of charred flesh. "I said. Heal."

"I..._can't_!" _Your stupid collar is inhibiting my magic, you sick freak!_ she wanted to say, but her lips couldn't form the words.

"Nonsense," he tsked, removing the brand from her trembling body. Solona felt her head slump forward, dizziness wrapping around her mind like a drugged high. "All mages have that primal instinct to save themselves and defend against outside forces. It's why you're so resilient to demonic influence. Strangely enough, it's also why demons crave your power." Solona didn't move, and Alrik's jaw tightened at her obvious lack of cooperation. "Very well then..."

She felt the front of her shift being torn off her body but couldn't muster the energy to retaliate. "I had this commissioned and thought to use it as an experiment on Lady Hawke, but her will broke too soon. You will do nicely though, I think, a healthy specimen." Solona blinked weary eyes at him and noticed the tool he held in his hand. It was shaped like some sort of claw, and her face paled, a heavy weight sinking in her gut. He reached out with one hand and cupped a full breast, frowning, "I'd never understood the purpose of these. Perhaps their appeal lies in its taste..."

Solona had never felt anything so utterly vile as when Alrik laved a nipple with his tongue, nibbling lightly with his teeth. "Hmm, nothing exciting about that. How about this?" Solona convulsed violently as she felt the claw-like tool clamp down fully on her other breast. "Ahh, much better." He pulled slightly, and Solona's first shriek rent through the air, pitch and volume rising as Alrik bit hard on her nipple and drew back cackling. "Such music, my pet. Thus begins your beautiful symphony..."

.

.

.

Morrigan was _pissed_.

They found the Underground rat who sold information to the templars concerning the location of the Hawke Estate and its occupants in exchange for the release of his wife, a Circle mage in the Gallows. Rather, they found the rat's mutilated corpse after the he had outlived his usefulness. Bethany had been near hysterics by the time she returned to them, and one of the healers gave her a calming draught to soothe her nerves. After she was able to explain what happened, Morrigan gave her stricts orders to stay and rest, assigning Feynriel to guard her and check her for any injuries. She turned toward two mages who were adept at shapeshifting, ordering them to check the warehouses and the mage pens to see if Solona's other companions were there. Then she shifted into a crow and flew out of one of the tunnels and across the sea.

It was no trouble at all gliding down into the Gallows itself. There were several other crows nearby as well as quite a few rooks, and they proved extremely helpful, telling her that a single female was taken down to the mage cages and that they heard screaming often throughout the night, even telling her of several shortcuts in the walls she could take that would lead her straight to the female's cell. Morrigan thanked them with a polite _kraa_.

She glided silently in hallways and hopped through the cracks in the walls, easily blending into the shadows as Templar patrols passed by. She nearly wasn't able to conceal herself fast enough when a large, metal door swung open and out stepped both Alrik and Karras, the former wearing a smug expression on his face and the latter, whose face appeared splotchy even in the dim light, a condition Morrigan knew to be an aftereffect of one of Solona's deadlier spells, bearing an expression of contempt, a dark gleam in his eye that caused Morrigan's tiny heart to flutter wildly in trepidation, heading down the same direction she was. She hopped along overheard, careful to keep the clicking of her talons in time with the heavy stomping of their plate boots.

They descended lower beneath the tower, and Morrigan's bird was not at all liking the feeling of the surface and open air being so far away. Finally the two Templars stopped before a door. Alrik unlocked it and motioned for Karras to enter first. Morrigan tilted her head up at the crack above the door that the other birds mentioned and glided over silently.

She heard them speaking, their voices loud and haughty. A woman responded, Solona...her voice frail and weak in comparison. She couldn't make out what was said, but Karras didn't like it. Morrigan flinched as Solona's head whipped back at the force of the slap. Her feathers fluffed up in agitation, but she dared not utter a sound.

"Now, now, Karras," Alrik scolded gently, "we cannot have her looking like we had beaten her to death. The people need to think that she merely had a bad scuffle with the Templars. Anyway there are better ways to break a mage."

The smirk on Karras's face was absolutely feral, and Alrik nodded once before leaving his Knight-Captain alone with Solona. Morrigan couldn't bear to watch. The man was a beast, worse than anything she had ever encountered in her travels around Thedas. She desperately tried to tune out Solona's heartbreaking cries. It was when she heard a sickening crunch that she saw red and felt her power rising up to strike. She turned to see just what he had done when her eyes met a pair of steel silver. Despite the tears coating down her face and the now awkward angle of her shoulder, Solona shook her head once, a motion that instantly quelled Morrigan's bloodlust though her heart ached.

Solona was dropped like a rag doll as Karras righted himself and left. Morrigan flew over immediately after hearing the door click, shifting back into her human form and rushing to Solona's side. She drew from her well of magic and ran a hand over the weaker woman's navel, burning away all of the taint that monster had left within her.

"Morrigan," her voice was so soft, like that of a shy child.

"Hush," the older witch scolded, delving deeper into her mana and healing the worst of her injuries. She glared at the sight of the punctured breast and the branded hip. "Those will have to stay for now."

"It's alright, Morrigan," Solona smiled weakly, "It could've been shredded through completely, and then I'd no longer have that breast. Could you imagine...me with a lopsided chest?"

"You," Morrigan huffed, angry, frustrated, and on the verge of tears, "only _you _would still smile."

Solona's grin broadened despite her weakness, "Always."

"We will break you out of here soon-"

"Don't bother," Solona interrupted, continuing before Morrigan could protest, "I've had a while to think down here, and I believe this might be the opportunity we need. Alrik has my public execution set for noon tomorrow before the Chantry. I realize it doesn't give you much time to prepare..."

"You would willingly endure more of _this_?" Morrigan hissed, "After what that cursed-" Her teeth clicked as she clenched her jaw, realizing just how foolish it was to argue with a woman as stubborn as Solona, "You yourself will refrain from fighting, will you not?"

"Pfff...I can still fight," Solona coughed weakly, the coppery taste of blood rising up from her throat and coating her tongue.

"You can barely stand, you fool girl," Morrigan shook, unable to keep her voice steady.

"Details…"

A moment of silence followed, and Solona closed her eyes, savoring the moment of peace, of her wild sister's presence, of the cool touch of her soft hand stroking her feverish skin. "Don't you dare die. I shall never forgive you."

Solona hummed. She would never forgive herself either. To die when they were on the brink of saving the city, of restoring the name of Hawke and Kirkwall's rightful Viscountess. To die before she could spend the rest of her life figuring out the ever enigmatic Ser Cullen..._Cullen_...

"Morrigan," Solona blinked wide eyes, urgency feeding strength into her voice, "I need you to find Cullen, that one templar at the Gallows who stood against Anders' hanging. Do you remember him?" Morrigan nodded slowly, her eyes narrowed warily. "He's in Lowtown watching for Sebastian's troops. Have him...if Sebastian returns by tomorrow, they are to make for the Chantry immediately. Please don't tell him of this. He might suspect because it's you, but...I don't want him to know. He might act rashly if he did."

"Like you?" Morrigan smirked.

Solona's gave a shaky laugh, letting her eyes drift closed and leaning back one again against the support Morrigan gave. Her breathing came much easier now than it did when Alrik had...she didn't want to think about it. There was still another full day to endure. Her mind, bruised and battered, refused to think on it further and instead wandered off to more pleasant times, of a rundown hut in the Korcari Wilds, the taste of the spring dew and sun-ripened berries, sitting on moss covered ruins, the same, slender fingers of her wild sister stroking her brow. "'Gannie?"

"...Yes, little one?"

"It's so cold."

Morrigan bit her lip and choked back a sob, "Rest now. Mother is making stew at home. We shall be heading back soon." She let her hands hover over Solona's shivering body once more, pressing warmth deep into her limbs and core and sat back watching her little one sleep, the ghost of an innocent, childlike smile settled on her face.

This Cullen wasn't difficult to find. He had taken up post along the southeastern gate. No one else was in the area. The lack of security around the city was actually quite appalling. So to see a lone figure standing at attention in a simple thick tunic tucked into leather breeches...

"You stick out like a sore thumb."

The ex-Templar whirled around quickly, not at all sensing the woman who now leaned casually against the wall behind him. She watched as he eyed her garb, not in the lecherous way men usually did, but as if he had seen it somewhere before.

"Where is Solona? Is she alright?" he asked anxiously.

Morrigan hesitated, "I am just a messenger," she said, and he nodded, "Solona and her companions had been captured by Alrik last night. My people are in the process of seeking her companions, and I bear tidings now from Solona herself."

Cullen clenched his fists against his sides, seeing the severity of the gaze she levelled at him and bracing himself against the worst, "Tell me."

Morrigan regarded the man, her lips turned down in a frown. Really, Solona could've done much better, but that was neither here nor there. She furrowed her brows as she considered just how much she could tell him. "Solona is set to be executed tomorrow at noon," she explained slowly, watching as Cullen's jaw tightened, hearing in her words that which she had not spoken. "She asked me to ready the resistance for a final confrontation during the event, and you are to gather Starkhaven's troops and lead them to the Chantry square when they arrive."

Morrigan saw the visible twitch in the man's jaw and touched her fingers against her staff warily. Cullen exhaled sharply from his nose, thoughts racing in his head at the witch's implications. If Solona was being held prisoner by Alrik, and they were still a full day away from the… His breathing grew ragged as he thought of the things that...what Alrik could be… Maker, he couldn't even put his fear into words. Brother Sebastian's words rose to the surface of his thoughts, _If the woman you love suffered in both body and mind at the hands of a depraved demon…_ His fists clenched, his jaw tightening as the possibilities of what she had suffered, what she still endured, and what she had yet to face flitted through his mind.

Morrigan glared at the man, and as if following his train of thought, she ground out through clenched teeth, "Her will is not easily broken, and she will not die." _She promised._

"But she will be damaged-"

"Then _you_ will fix her!" Dark energy licked at her palms menacingly. "In the meantime, 'twould behoove you to do nothing that would jeopardize the mission. If you wish for something to do rather than to simply stand here, go ride out, meet the Prince, and demand that he make haste."

Cullen forced himself to back down though inside he was still seething. He refused to remain idle while Solona was…He would storm the Gallows himself to free her, take her away from everything here, _And to what end? _his thoughts whispered traitorously, _You would escape with her to a place where there is no conflict while knowing exactly what it is she is trying to defend here. You are being selfish._ "Fine," he bit out.

"One more thing," Morrigan narrowed her eyes, a predatory smirk gracing her pointed features, "You will not touch the Knight-Captain Karras. He is _mine_."

Before Cullen had a chance to respond, Morrigan shifted and flew up into the air, leaving him to squint up in the afternoon sky after her while helplessly thinking, "Shapeshifters...I wish they would stop doing that."

.

.

Varric and Isabela were on their fourteenth game of wicked grace when the pirate queen finally threw down her cards and lay down on the filthy ground. "I'm _bored_. Carver, come play with us."

Varric chuckled, shuffling the cards and stacking them neatly before storing them back in his jerkin. "You're just sore because you haven't beaten me at all," he said, slapping Isabela's wandering hands away from his very manly chest, "Bad Rivaini. No touching."

"I could be sore from doing other things," Isabela pouted, earning her a few blatant stares from several of the other prisoners around her.

Just then the daily dose of barely edible goop splashed down from an opening in the ceiling. The other prisoners, the mage supporters, dove eagerly at the slop, stuffing their faces full.

"Still not touching that," Isabela said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Suit yourself," one of the other prisoners managed to say between mouthfuls. "When you've been here as long as we have, you eventually stop caring."

An oddly clean, white mouse crept over and sniffed curiously before retching. It then skittered over to Carver, climbed up onto his knee, and squeaked. The Templar looked down at it, his senses brushing over the small animal.

"Hello there, little mage," Carver smiled. "What brings you here?"

Before his very eyes, the mouse shifted into the form of an elf youth, "The Underground is moving. We strike at noon tomorrow in the Chantry square. Your arms and armor will be delivered tonight."

"Finally! Some action," Isabela groaned.

"What about this lot?" Varric asked, gesturing at the other prisoners who only stared dumbly at the elf child, some slack-jawed at the strange magic they'd never seen before.

"Morrigan said for those who can fight to take up arms. Others from the resistance will be here tonight to escort the women and children to safety."

"And what of my sisters? Are they alright?" Carver asked, tensing.

"The healer mage had Lady Bethany escape back to the Underground during the attack. Lady Marian and the other mage are still unaccounted for. We suspect they are being held in the mage pens," the child explained.

"Not the Gallows then," Carver breathed a sigh in relief.

"No," said the elf, "that is where Lady Solona is."

"_What?!_" Varric and Isabela cried out unanimously, scaring the poor elf back into the form of a trembling little mouse.

Carver scooped up the frightened thing and set it gently near one of the cracks in the wall, "Thank you, friend." The mouse issued an acknowledging little squeeze and skittered away.

Isabela was fuming, "When I get my hands on that good-for-nothing bastard, he'll...I'll...well, he'll never see it coming."

"Yeah?" Varric frowned, the lines on his face prominent against the harsh look in his normally smiling eyes, "Get in line, Rivaini. This Alrik will be taking Bianca's arrows up the-"

"Save your anger for the upcoming battle," Carver said, "It does no good for Solona here."

"Heh, right you are, Junior."

.

.

.

_Cullen._

Cullen snapped himself out of the light doze he had been drifting off into. He raised his head and scanned his surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, but for some reason, his Templar senses were tingling, and he stood up from where he sat braced against the wall.

_Cullen._

"Solona?"

_I am she, but we have been separated. I heard you calling to me in your sleep._

Cullen flinched. He had indeed been dreaming of Solona before the ghostly whispers startled him into wakefulness. "How is it that you are here?"

_It is wrong. He forced us apart. I cannot reach her. We call for each other, even now. I yearn for her. But here, listen… Look to the North. They ride now. Bring them here. Quickly._

"Solona?" Cullen whispered into the darkness. "Solona?!"

But there was only silence. The ex-Templar clenched his fists, but he kept his worries tightly restrained as he began making his way toward the opposite end of the city.

* * *

_References:_

_So the usage of torture devices and such was actually inspired by a trip to the Czech Republic I took several years back, during which I visited a Museum of Torture. I was intrigued. Don't judge. It was a rather eye-opening experience to see everything and imagine for myself just how each tool was used. It certainly showed me just how real the cruelty humans have the potential to inflict upon one another can actually be._

_I loosely based one of Alrik's tools on the Cat's Paw, and the other tool he uses is called the Breast Ripper (which, if you've read it, I'm pretty sure you know which one _that _is)._

_But yeah...this is as dark as it gets. You can breathe now. I know I will. Now onto lighter, brighter, more action-y, kissy things. ...whut?_

_Peace, plx. kthxbai_


	9. 9: Judicare Vivos Et Mortuos

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 9: Judicare Vivos Et Mortuos

Marian watched from within one of the crowded cages as they were wheeled up into the city. People openly stared as they passed by, some of the older nobility recognizing her for who she once was. Children ran alongside the wagons but were quickly drawn away by anxious parents. People were already gathered at the Chantry square, curious of the identity of the rebel mage Alrik had arrested. Templars were all standing in formation around the perimeter, even going up the Chantry steps right to the doors. They'd never seen that many of the knights before, weren't even aware the Gallows was spacious enough to house so many. The stage where Solona had once given an alluring performance and where Marian had stood in humiliation was now topped with bundles of kindling. A single wooden post was erected in the middle of it all. Anders ground his teeth together when he saw it, small, uncontrolled bursts of fire leaping from his hands only to be put out by the wards within the cage.

"Be still, Anders," Marian said quietly, hoping to calm him, "We can do nothing while we're stuck in here."

Anders grunted, "Doesn't mean I can't entertain the idea of blowing up the entire Chantry and all of the templars surrounding it just to end it all."

With an amused snort, Marian repeated, "'blowing up the entire Chantry'...?"

"It's just a thought."

They rolled steadily along the cobblestone streets before stopping entirely beside the stage. All of the carts were lined up neatly, strategically set to put all of the captured mages on display before the spectators. Marian took a moment to look at the crowd. Many of the faces she remembered from her time in court, most of them now haggard and greying. Her eyes found those of Seneschal Bran, and he nodded respectfully. She blinked, only then noticing Varric, Isabela, and Carver standing beside him, armed and practically frothing as they glared at the stage. Carver turned to address Bran, and the Seneschal responded politely.

Marian furrowed her brows. Seneschal Bran was one of the mage supporters then?

The little sparrow mage who visited them the night before didn't reveal much, frightened of the templars who guarded the mage pens. She had simply told her and Anders of Solona's execution and that the Underground were organizing an attack. To see escaped mages supporters out among the people like this...the Underground must have this all well in hand.

A low rumble of sound started near the west end of the square. Marian and Anders turned to see the sea of people parting as Knight-Commander rode atop a tall, midnight black stallion flanked by a contingent of templars. Alrik looked back, and they noticed the rope he held in his hand as he yanked forward. The small person, in a large dirtied, bloodied prisoner's shift with a burlap hood cast over their head, at the end of the rope stumbled slightly but quickly regained their composure, walking forward with sure steps and a proud air despite being unable to see before them.

Behind her, Marian heard Anders hiss angrily, "She's grown very weak. They certainly held nothing back."

"What do you see?" Marian asked, afraid to hear the healer's diagnosis.

"Well," Anders began, his eyes taking in every single detail, from her posture to her coloring, "the slight swaying in her walk suggests massive blood loss, starvation, dehydration, or some blighted combination of the three. Despite her stubborn gait, her back is slightly hunched...broken ribs most likely. Her shoulder has been dislocated and set at least twice, judging by the inflammation there." His eyes narrowed upon seeing the length of leg she was forced to expose, the shift she wore only ending mid-thigh. There was dried blood caked along her inner thighs, something even Marian caught sight of.

"_Monsters_," she spat, "that had better be her menses and nothing else. _I_ was not even humiliated to that degree."

Alrik dismounted and nearly ran up the steps of the stage, his excitement disturbingly transparent even to the spectators. "Citizens of Kirkwall," he turned, gazing out at everyone, "I am ever so pleased to inform you all that today marks the beginning of the end for this little rebellion..."

Marian ignored him in favor of looking out into the crowd once more. She knew how much the man enjoyed hearing himself speak as well as how fluently he told his lies. While he droned on about the Orders' alleged arrests of prime members of the mage resistance, she found her eyes straying upward. Grand Cleric Callista and several of her Mothers were again seated on the balcony. On the Mother's faces, she saw a wide array of hatred, anger, and disgust, but to whom they directed such negativity toward, she wasn't sure. The Grand Cleric, however, wore a mask of impassivity, her gaze fixed on Alrik's back as he paced the perimeter of the stage while giving his impassioned sermon.

"...and so we have here now the beacon, the mascot, of this short-lived uprising."

Solona shut her eyes tightly against the bright sunlight as the hood was yanked up off her head. She heard the collective gasp from the crowd and wondered if she really looked that bad. She certainly felt absolutely terrible and considered in hindsight that she probably shouldn't have taunted Alrik as much as she had in the last few hours. She felt the chill air against her back, an unfamiliarity that was accompanied by the lightness of her shorn locks...or rather, burnt off locks.

She slowly blinked open her eyes, trying to see past the dark spots in her vision, and the first thing she focused on were her raw, mangled wrists where the manacles had bit harshly into them during her struggles. She wondered briefly if it should hurt more now that she could see them in the daylight. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she would've frowned, but her mouth felt tender and swollen all over. She was aware that Alrik was still talking, but all she heard was a low murmur punctuated at points with sharp punches. She figured she must've had one too many hits to the head, but she couldn't really remember. Everything felt dulled, as if her mind shut itself off from all physical sensation and her body now acted freely if not a bit clumsily.

"Bow before your betters, _mage_, and beg the Maker's forgiveness for the upheaval you have directed!"

A heavy boot kicked the back of her knees, and Solona hissed her through her teeth as her knees fell hard on the platform, her mind sending shocking agony from the impact that jarred her entire body. She trembled in pain, her bound fists clenching so tightly that her cracked and broken nails drew blood from her palms as all sensation returned to her within a single moment, from the throbbing areas of her body to the sharp awareness in her mind. She took a deep, shuddering breath and felt her magic fighting for release but failing against the mana-restricting collar at her throat.

There was silence all around her, her gasps for air echoing loudly in her ears. She was far from broken though. The light in her eyes was hard, turning dulled grey to bright, unrepentant silver as she hoisted herself up on her elbows before pushing herself upright, staggering on her feet at a momentary loss of equilibrium. She faced the people before her, her vision blurring at the edges from the pain of movement but her head held up proudly. She was immediately brought down again, the breath knocked out of her lungs only to return in a ragged gasp as she struggled to remain upright.

It helped some though. Instead of seeing a great colored blur, she now saw in terribly sharp detail.[1] Her eyes found Bethany, who had a hand pressed against her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Then she saw Varric and Isabela, who looked absolutely pissed beyond measure. She let her eyes wander then to the side, where she saw Anders clenching tightly against the bars of his cage, his magic pushing forcefully against the wards that bound it. Lastly, she saw Marian, Marian who had once suffered similarly at the same hands, whose gaze now fed her spirit with a strength not her own, with the knowledge that her friends were with her, and as she heard a crow's agitated _kraa_ in the distance and remembered her wild sister's plea, she answered with a cry of her own, feeding her body with sheer willpower as she rose to her feet, dodging Alrik's incoming kick. The ringing of a drawing sword echoed as she unsheathed the Knight-Commander's blade from his waist and brought it down on the leash binding her to him. The stunned silence left in its wake was deafening.

"Freedom for the mages…" Solona gasped, "and _for Kirkwall_!"

The people rose in an uproar, and magic flooded all her senses despite being cut off from her own mana well. Spells were cast from every direction as arcane warriors, healers, shapeshifted beasts, and elemental mages leapt out from their hiding places. They converged in one great mass even as innocents ran out of the battle zone before breaking off into smaller, organized groups. Armed mage supporters quickly ushered people through passages that would lead them to safety, and those who were adept at lockpicking made quick work of the mage pens.

Even as the chaos erupted around them, Alrik could only glare hatefully at Solona as she leaned heavily on the sword she stole from him. "You...this was not supposed to happen," he snarled, "You were supposed to submit!"

Solona felt her left eye twitch irritably in response, "I'm so sorry to disappoint."

Behind her, Knight-Captain Karras found himself almost instantly overwhelmed by a huge corrupted spider, screaming like a pansy as his limbs were systematically ripped off before her poisoned jaws wrapped around his head and squeezed. Before her, Alrik snapped, and he drew a hidden dagger from his gauntlet, charging straight toward her. She panicked and took a step back only to slip off the edge of the platform, the blade that had been aimed at her neck cutting deeply into her cheek instead as she toppled over, Alrik following close behind.

"I've got you, kitten," Isabela whispered in her ear as she caught her easily. Solona nearly sobbed in relief but caught herself in surprise as a staff was thrust into her hands, a very familiar staff. "I figured you'd never let yourself live it down if you didn't fight in this last one. But one fall, Amell, and I'm sending you straight to Anders in the infirmary."

"Thank you, Isabela," Solona smiled, clutching at her staff and leaning against it. "Can you help me get this off?" she asked, gesturing to the cord around her neck, "I can't touch it."

The pirate moved with deft fingers, and Solona moaned as her magic rushed up, enveloping itself around her comfortingly, brushing soothingly against her wounds and weaknesses. "Not rusty now, are you?" Isabela teased.

This time, Solona smirked, her silver eyes sparking dangerously. "Not at all."

Despite their best efforts, however, the inexperienced mages and amateur supporters were barely holding their ground against the seasoned skills of the templars. As a unit of mages suffered a smite, another stood in its place, but mana regeneration was slow, and there were many casualties on their side. Varric stood in defense of a disabled mage unit, a rain of arrows piercing through the openings in templar armor, but he was only one dwarf against their numbers. Isabela danced behind enemies like an illusion, laughingly teasing and goading the templars to attack wildly in anger. Marian and Bethany stood side by side, the younger applying supportive spells on her siblings and the elder skillfully firing off arrows, backing Carver as he drove into templar ranks, pitting his skills against those of his former brothers. Morrigan and Solona fought like the wild witches they were, crouched back to back, taking on the forms of spider, bereskarn, wolf, and panther and penetrating silverite armor with their teeth and claws like a knife slicing through butter.

Still the templars pushed on, clearing spells from the air and draining magic just as quickly. It wasn't long before a cry to fall back rose among the mages. Morrigan nearly unleashed a ball of lightning when she felt her magic drained in an instant.

"Blasted damnation!" Anger drove her hand as she whirled her staff about her head intimidatingly at the templars advancing upon her. Solona stepped out from where she crouched behind her sister, sending her own lightning into the templar lines. They were tired and nearly drained of all their mana. Solona watched, her heart clenching, as one of the younger mages from the Underground shifted into a sleek cheetah before he was impaled by a templar sword. Another mage, an elf, was running on a skillfully cast haste spell, ducking and dodging in blind panic before she misstepped and was run through.

They were dying. Oh, Maker, they were all dying…

"_Buaidh no bas_!"[2]

The raised battle cry was answered instantly. All heads turned as a mass of foot soldiers charged in, their armor and weapons catching the light of the afternoon sun as they ran. Banners and shields proudly bore the crest of the royal family of Starkhaven. The Maker's armored servants clashed violently against these fierce warriors, and the tide turned soon after, driving the templar forces back toward the Chantry.

"Sebastian!"

The Prince, sitting atop a strong chestnut mare as he commanded his troops, turned when he heard Marian's voice, the tension in his shoulders dissolving instantly at the sight of her running recklessly toward him. He dismounted and met her halfway, wrapping his strong arms around her as she barreled into him, a single sob escaping her as she burrowed against his shoulder.

"_Cuirle mo croide_,"[3] he whispered into her hair, "I shall never leave you alone again."

Isabela eyed one of the Starkhaven soldiers as he fought, nimbly avoiding the templars' slow, heavy strikes while firing off darts from the contraptions he had attached on his wrists. "Varric?" she called. The dwarf ambled over, Bianca slung casually over a shoulder. The pirate simply pointed, "It's real. I want one."

Varric shook his head and chuckled.

Morrigan and Solona were busy dispatching several stragglers, Solona flinging lightning bolts and small tempests around them while Morrigan practiced her preferred method of bludgeoning the templars with the heavy end of her staff, which worked wonderfully with the absence of magic. They stood there breathing heavily as they observed their handiwork, and Morrigan laughed in disbelief, "'Tis a wonder we're still alive."

Solona tried to smile but winced instead. Her magic had long since healed the more superficial wounds on her body, enough to where she was able to function. "It's a wonder I can still cast spells."

She felt a hand at her elbow and whipped around, eyes widening at the sight of familiar amber eyes. She blinked and glanced down in bemusement at the unfamiliar Starkhaven plate armor before looking back up at his face. Upon seeing the hard expression he wore, her surprise turned into shame as she tried to turn away, but his grip on her arm was held unyielding.

"You looked like you were in a tight spot," Cullen teased and graced her with a smirk that caused her knees to buckle, drawing her close and pressing a kiss against a patch of uninjured skin on her brow.

Morrigan huffed, "Indeed."

"_So you think you have defeated me, _mage_, you and your pathetic resistance_," Alrik's voice echoed unnaturally as he stepped onto the platform, the floor under his boots darkening with corruption at each step. "_The main event has only just begun!_"

Solona snorted, "And he accuses mages for consorting with demons."

"I have a bad feeling about this..." Varric muttered, holding Bianca at the ready.

"_I am _Legion_!_" Alrik cried out, "_You will come to know and fear me, the mightiest of the Fade walkers!_"

Marian glared at the man, who at that moment seemed to emit a dark pulsing aura around him. Something in her mind clicked in sudden comprehension, and she looked up at the Chantry balcony, only to find it empty. The air around the the Knight-Commander suddenly shifted, and a large rip appeared in thin air, an unholy swarm of demons rushing out overhead, darkening the sky with their increasing number.

"Right," Isabela breathed, "...legion."

The remaining members of the Underground quailed at the sight, some stumbling as they tried to run away, panicking. "Hold your ground!" Morrigan barked, "The demons can be beaten!"

"We're going to need more backup," Solona muttered.

The heavy march of plated boots echoed from behind them, and Cullen turned to face the approaching army, the others following his example. "I wasn't aware that more backup meant more templars," Morrigan said warily.

"They hail from Ferelden, led by Knight-Commander Greagoir," Cullen tried explaining, hope springing to life within his chest.

"Oh, because that makes it all better," came the biting remark.

Cullen frowned at Solona's wild sister, "They are here at my request to aid in your cause."

Knight-Commander Greagoir pulled off his helm and narrowed his eyes at the sight of the hovering demons, every one of them awaiting orders from their master Legion before striking, some of them lashing forward slightly against the will that held them in check. "Well, Knight-Captain, things here certainly seem more interesting than your missive led me to believe."

"Oh, believe it, Knight-Commander," Solona gave a sardonic grin, "every day in Kirkwall is a grand adventure."

Cullen couldn't quite hide his smirk as Greagoir could only blink stupefied at the cheek of this small slip of a woman who looked like she would topple over at the slightest breeze but for the hard, determined glint in her eye. And if he noticed how closely his Knight-Captain stood behind her, he didn't show it. "Templars, form up!" They watched as the knights stepped together, marching forward in organized ranks, mingling among the scattered Starkhaven soldiers and even the remaining Kirkwall templars as they acknowledged the greater demonic threat, and it was then that they noticed mages among the Ferelden knights, magic dancing along their staves and fingers as they cast protective glyphs and auras amongst themselves.

"Wow," Solona breathed, "clearly I've made a mistake of settling in the Free Marches."

Cullen chuckled, "Not many outside our Circle are aware of the rather unorthodox methods we practice in regards to mage and templar relations."

"Knight-Captain," Greagoir ordered, "draw in the second line. Prepare to flank the enemy."

"Ser," Cullen saluted. His thumb grazed briefly along the underside of Solona's elbow before he marched off with his orders.

"_Ferelden dogs!_" Alrik shouted after the last of the demons had entered through the rift in the Fade. His eyes shone with an unholy light, the blue of his irises bleeding into the whites of his eyes as the demon within him took complete control over the human vessel. "_You think your mortal armies can stand against the force of my powers?_" He raised his arms, palms up, over his head, and the dark cloud of demonic forces fell swiftly upon them. If the battle they fought earlier had been chaos, this now seemed like the Void itself was descending over all of Kirkwall.

As the demons surged toward them, warriors pointed their weapons skyward and mages readied their most potent spells, unleashing them into the swarm. The clash of the two forces was magnificent, the sound of steel clashing against demonic armor cracking through the air like the roar of thunder. Men and women fell quickly as wave after wave of dark energy overwhelmed them, unable to stand firm against these impossible numbers.

Marian nocked an arrow, drawing the string of her bow back against her cheek, and focused her gaze on a single target. _No, Marian, if you must strike, strike at the source,_ she shut her eyes, and her stance wavered visibly.

"Sister?"

The Champion of Kirkwall turned and faced Bethany, seeing the concern in her eyes. "It's Grace," she said simply.

Carver whipped around, his eyes wide in disbelief, "That...how can that be?"

"Who's Grace?" Varric asked while loosing a volley of fire enchanted bolts into the onslaught of demons.

"I can't explain it now," Marian said, sending her one arrows into the chest of a demon that had drawn much too near for comfort, "but I know how we can end this. Alrik himself is incapable of drawing power from the Fade. We need to find the connection and sever it. It'll likely be a bauble or a trinket, something he carries on his person." Her mind spun, running through options and forming strategies and back-up strategies in a single moment.

"Right," she pulled her shoulders back, the reins of leadership coming easily to her like an old friend, "Bethany, Sebastian, I need your support from afar. Carver, pave the way forward. Isabela!" the Rivaini pirate blinked, "I need a pickpocket. Follow my lead!"

"Yes, oh fearless leader!" Isabela twirled her daggers menacingly.

Carver charged forward with a cry, swinging and hacking his greatsword through demon flesh as they passed, fighting their way around the numerous bodies both fighting to live and dead at their feet. Isabela danced in perfect sync with his strikes, felling the enemies with deadly precision. Bethany sustained a massive windstorm over their heads while Sebastian fired swiftly at the demons whose attentions were drawn by their movement, discouraging the demons' attacks from above. As a single unit, they rushed the stage only to find themselves trapped in a telepathic prison, the force of it crushing their bodies. They did not suffer long as they suddenly felt a strong wave of cleansing power rise up against the offensive magic.

"Hurry and finish it, Viscountess," Greagoir hissed as he turned and rushed back into the fray. Marian nodded and scrambled to her feet, but Isabela was faster, darting up and around Alrik's body faster than he could respond, and leaping away immediately, a loose chain with a blood red pendant dangling from her fingers.

A phylactery.

"Break it!" Marian cried out, "Destroy it now!"

"_No!_" Alrik cried out, reaching desperately for the vial.

Isabela skillfully avoided his lunge, throwing the amulet onto the wooden planks behind her, and Carver followed through, raising his sword over his head and sending it smashing down on the blood vial within. A loud shrieking wail rang out, forcing everyone to clap their hands around their ears, and the demons screeched as they were pulled forcefully back through the Veil tear, like they were being sucked into a vacuum of air. The tear mended itself in a bright flash of light, the accompanying sonic wave of pressure knocking back nearly everyone within its radius.

From where they were on the platform, a faint hiss sounded from the broken phylactery, a tendril of smoke rising up and taking the incorporeal shape of a young woman. She smiled at Marian even as she began to disappear.

"_Thank you, Lady Hawke. Thank you for releasing me from my father's seal. Now I can finally rest at the Maker's side._"

The great Chantry doors flew open, the Grand Cleric striding out purposefully. "Knights! Arrest the rebel mages and their accomplices for their crimes this-"

"Callista!" Marian spoke, her voice strong and unyielding.

The Grand Cleric paused, unaccustomed to being addressed so informally, "Lady Hawke..."

"I have news of your child," Marian began, her posture regal despite the injuries she sustained and the bloodied mess that coated her armor. She folded her hands before her and stepped forward toward the other woman.

The Grand Cleric scoffed, but it was difficult to miss the slight shifting of her eyes, "_My _child? Dear woman, I have never-"

"She was killed," Marian finished with a pointed look at Alrik, who was kneeling upon the floor, his shoulders slumped forward in weakness, drained almost of all his will.

A myriad of emotions crossed the Grand Cleric's face, from anger and disbelief to hate and despair and finally settling in humbled resignation. "Your pardon, Viscountess," she said with the voice of a broken woman. "Knight-Commander Greagoir, I leave Alrik's fate to the will of your sacred Order. Punish him for his transgressions as you see fit. Maker watch over you." The woman turned and headed with weighted steps back into her sanctuary where she could grieve in peace for the child she had lost to the lover she had just condemned.

Cullen glanced at Greagoir, who shrugged in response, both Templars bearing similar looks of confusion. He turned his attention to Alrik, and his eyes widened when he saw three Starkhaven arrows protruding from the Knight-Commander's body, one embedded deeply in his eye socket, one below his right collarbone, and the last straight through the heart. The Knight-Captain whipped around, his pale eyes searching before they landed on the icy glare of one vengeful Prince. Sebastian caught his stare and nodded solemnly.

Solona watched this all from where she stood next to Morrigan, not entirely understanding the exchange that took place and not really caring. Her body felt very strange, as if it were a well overflowing.

"Morrigan?" she murmured, "Something is really, really wrong."

The Chasind witch narrowed her eyes as she stretched her senses out, reaching out to touch against Solona's power, "Your magic is pouring out of you like a leaking faucet. Control it before it kills you!"

Try as she might, she couldn't contain the mana that kept seeping out of her system. She felt dizzy from the effort and fell hard as her body finally gave out from the stress she pushed it through. She didn't hear Cullen's panicked cry, or the terrified shouts, or the beating of great leather wings as something large landed nearby and the startled cries its presence garnered.

"Mother," Morrigan greeted, gripping her staff warily. "How convenient for you to arrive only after the battle has been won." Everyone else simply stood and gawked as the dragon shifted into the form of a regal and otherworldly looking humanoid, the tight-fitting leathers she wore resembling the coat her dragon had just shed, her shock of white hair not so much a sign of age as it seemed a display of endless wisdom.

"There is no need for that, Morrigan," Flemeth waved dismissively, "I am here only to collect your stubborn sister."

Cullen glared, "Where are you taking her?" He had knelt beside Solona's prone body, gathering her up by her shoulders to hold her close and folding himself over her protectively.

The Witch of the Wilds smirked, "Why, back home to heal, of course. Seems as obvious a reason as any...or is it?"

"We have Anders here, Mother. 'Twould be unnessecary to-"

"While I have no doubt of your healers' abilities, I am afraid her wounds run too deeply for his skill to mend," she leveled her eyes with Morrigan, "You must've realized this by now."

Morrigan glanced away uneasily, realizing what injuries Flemeth referred to. "You have not come for me then?"

"Some other time," Flemeth sighed, looking around at the carnage, "You seem to have your hands full. I will not keep you from your duties." The dragon witch knelt before Cullen and held out her arms expectantly, "When she has recovered, she will come find you."

Cullen looked down at the woman in his arms. There was no need to memorize her features for he had done it all before. There was no longing to hear her voice for its melody was already ingrained in his ear. He pursed his lips, and with utmost care he transferred her into Flemeth's hands. The witch lifted her charge as if she weighed nothing.

"Tell me, Morrigan," the great Witch said sternly, though her gaze was soft, "did she laugh?"

The younger woman blinked, baffled by the odd question, before looking down at her wild sister and recalling a bitter memory, one that took place in a dark, damp dungeon beneath the Gallows. "Yes," she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "always."

Flemeth nodded, "Such unadulterated optimism and always in the last place you look...like stockings!" She released a cackle of laughter that didn't seem quite evil but still caused those around her to shudder in unchecked fear. There was a twinkle in her eye as she turned to Marian with a wink, "My gift to you…" Then she was gone, soaring into the air faster than Bianca could shoot, carrying Solona away with her.

Marian stared after her for a while, trying to discern the witch's meaning when she felt it, the unmistakable tingle of magic brushing along the edge of her senses, as if in greeting. Her eyes widened as she felt her power trickle back into her, snuggling into her core and purring in contentment at being reunited with its master. She bit her lip, her lips curving in a pleased smile, as she dipped her consciousness into the euphoric well of healing and soothing, allowing her magic to roam freely around her so that it hovered soothingly over each person, wisps of healing light knitting and cooling heated and wounded flesh and bone. A large hand, calloused from years of archery, closed over hers, and she squeezed back happily.

"Well," Varric hooked his thumbs under the lapels of his jerkin, "we do good work."

He turned, anticipating a comment regarding his amazingly sexy and soft chest hair, but Isabela was nowhere in sight. Instead she had gone and cornered an unsuspecting Starkhaven foot soldier, the one with the dart shooters, and began her slow seduction of the sputtering, red-faced man while lifting the releases off of his wrist bands and tucking her pilfered prize under the waistband of her smalls.

_References: _

_1: "Instead of a big dark blur, I see a big bright blur." Han Solo; "The Return of the Jedi"_

_2: The battle cry of Clan MacDougall_

_3: "Pulse of my heart" in...Scottish Gaelic *crosses fingers* or so I hope. It could be Irish. I don't know anymore... Do you know what's more frustrating than researching a way to bring bellydancing into Thedas? Finding Scottish terms of endearments while hoping you're not getting an Irish equivalent instead...or led in completely circular discussions. Silly forums..._


	10. 10: Descendit De Caelis

_A/N: I know. I know. Get Amell and Cullen back together again! Gawd! _

_Wait. Wait. I'll fix it. ...but only after I wrap things up here. _

* * *

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 10: Descendit De Caelis

Acting Guard-Captain Cullen placed another completed report in the already significant pile on his desk before he sighed, leaning back in his seat and stretching his neck. The sun had already set hours ago, but the border patrols had a rather nasty encounter with a rogue band of anti-mage extremists. Several of his men suffered wounds from spelled traps, but they had been able to apprehend all of the opposition and schedule them for interrogation tomorrow. He ran a hand over his tired eyes as he thought of the report he just filed. A copy would need to be delivered to Guard-Captain Hendyr immediately. If things were this bad for Starkhaven, Maker only knew how Aveline was faring through Kirkwall's recovery.

Cullen fingered the small pouch at his side, an unconscious habit he had picked up recently whenever he worried about something. Prince Vael left for Kirkwall the week before to help his very pregnant wife in handling the court while she, several other mages, and a research team from Tevinter investigated the recent thinning of the Veil in the lower levels of the Gallows. Most mages generally steered clear of the area, but some of the younger thrill seekers would sometimes sneak in on a dare. All who reemerged, however, were drawn into themselves, listless and fearful. None dared to speak of what they might have seen or heard, some even breaking down into hysterical fits at the mere mention of it.

Even Sebastian had been wary of Marian going back in there, especially in her current condition, but she reasoned that because she was once a victim in the dungeons, the lingering horrors could likely have little to no effect on her. Sebastian argued that because of her past experiences, she would be more susceptible to harm. His mouth ran away from him when he raised his voice in frustration and said that he'd sooner bind her in shackles rather than allow her to put herself in a dangerous situation like that. She did not take kindly to the thought of being bound or shackled.

They were still not on speaking terms.

The Mage Underground disbanded shortly after the final confrontation with Alrik. Most of its members went back to their families and continued working their respective trades. Mage enchantments were quite popular in Kirkwall and in the Free Marches black market, the intricate spells woven into the merchandise greatly increasing their value. Granted the concept of forging a symbiotic relationship between mages and nonmages was not readily accepted by everyone, hence the growing anti-mage sentiment, but between the new laws enforced by both Starkhaven and Kirkwall as well as the vigilance of the city guard, the situation was much better controlled than he had initially thought it would be.

Cullen sat up straight again, his fingers brushing one last time over the pouch at his waist, and returned to his work. He tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck, before reaching for his quill. With the more pressing matters taken care of, there were now perimeters to be set and guard posts to assign around the city for the upcoming Satinalia festival next week.

.

.

.

The Darktown clinic was still a mass of rubble from when Karras tried to blow it up. Of course with it being in Darktown, it wasn't likely to receive any amount of restoration until the rest of the city was repaired. Viscountess Hawke certainly had her work cut out for her, cleaning up after Alrik's negligence.

The lone figure standing before the ruined site sighed and drew her fur-lined hood further over her head, obscuring her face within its shadow. She turned and headed back down the steps to the more occupied part of Darktown, wrapping her woolen cloak around her against the chill of the air. Tomwise was still at his stall, selling various herbs and potions. His stores and shelves seemed a lot fuller than it was when Alrik was still the city authority, and it seemed he smiled more at customers as they came and went. Things certainly had changed within the past year.

"Greetings, messere! Please feel free to browse around the shop," he said cheerily.

The stranger looked up and smiled, "I was actually wondering what happened to the two healers who ran the clinic here."

She expected him to give the implication that his information would come at a cost but was surprised instead when he simply smiled and said, "Well, I do know that Anders has a new clinic set up in Hightown. A bit inconvenient with all those stairs, if you ask me. Still, it's a lot nicer than it was down here. He works together with the Viscountess' sister, I think. Unfortunately I don't know much about what happened with Serrah Amell. There are many stories, sure. I've heard that she was actually a Fade spirit who had come to help Kirkwall when we were in trouble. I've also heard that she was rescued from the brink of death from a dragon. There's also the story that she actually _was_ a dragon. It's hard to say what really happened."

There was laughter in the stranger's voice, "Thank you. How much for your lyrium potions?" He named a fair price, and after browsing a bit more, the stranger left with a satchel of elfroot and some lyrium potions.

The walk through Lowtown was pleasant, peaceful, and clean. It was a far cry from the rows of shambling huts and rickety market stalls it once was with shady thugs congregating within shadows and dark corners. Not surprisingly though, the Hanged Man remained unchanged from the thick oaken door on its rusty hinges to the creepy swaying sign above it. She paused for moment before entering with a shrug...

And promptly wondered if she should've just stayed outside.

Not only did she draw attention to herself with her outlandish traveling wear, the infamous storyteller himself was in the middle of regaling to his captive audience the tale of the final battle against the demon Legion who possessed the former Knight-Commander Alrik. It didn't seem like Varric noticed her at the door, which suited her just fine as she ambled over toward the bar. Corff was still the same, wiping down the countertop, cleaning the mugs, and spreading the latest news and rumors.

"How can I help you today, good ser?" he asked amicably.

"I'll take a pint," she responded, tipping her chin toward the keg of ale behind him and sliding a few silvers in his direction.

"Coming right up."

She leaned against the counter, closing her eyes for a moment and taking in every sound and smell around her. The group on her left were enjoying a drunken game of Diamondback while the pair behind them were focused on their hands in Wicked Grace. Norah still skillfully evaded the wandering hands of drunken patrons, but she seemed more courteous now. The entire atmosphere of the tavern seemed a lot lighter than it had been a year ago. Then there was Varric's soothingly mellow baritone, hoarse from laughter and the telling of tales.

"...and so the red-scaled High Dragon bore Solona up into the air, faster than the blink of an eye. Her companions looked on in wonder and in sorrow, and it was the Knight-Captain Cullen, her star-crossed lover, who suffered the most grief..." She choked on her drink and grimaced as some of the ale shot up her nose, "for he knew he would likely never see her again. And so ends the tale of our Hero of Kirkwall, she who came from nothing, raised an army from nothing, and saved the entire city with strength and will alone to bring Kirkwall a much welcomed peace."

There was scattered applause as Varric ended his tale, and as the hooded woman lifted her mug to take another swallow of the bitter ale, a man stood and held his tankard high, "To our hero!" The resounding echo of "_To our hero!_" as drinks were raised all around left the stranger stunned. She turned to find Varric staring right at her before tilting his head up meaningfully. With a roll of her eyes and a nod at Corff, she followed the dwarf up the steps and into his palatial suite.

"I knew you'd come back," he said immediately, his back toward her.

"The 'Hero of Kirkwall'? Really?" the stranger laughed.

"It's sticking with you, Amell. It's your official title now."

Solona laughed, lowering herself into one of Varric's many chairs, taking care to keep her hood drawn over her face, "And what is this about a star-crossed lover?"

Varric chuckled, "Do you know that he still leaves for weeks at a time to go searching for you?" At Solona's silence, he continued, "He's not here. He's now the Guard-Captain of Starkhaven, keeping everything in order there while Choir Boy is here taking care of his very pregnant and moody Princess."

"Marian is with child?"

"Yep. You're going to be someone's aunt very soon."

"So," Solona blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the news so far, "Cullen didn't return to the Circle?"

Varric shrugged as Norah came in with drinks. He took a swig of his ale and smacked his lips, "Nah, he wouldn't have had as many chances to go looking for you if he stayed as a Knight-Captain. Junior's taken up the mantle over at the Gallows though."

"Carver is the new Knight-Commander?" Solona blinked in surprise.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you? He took on the job of fixing up the Tower after it all ended, but he became so involved that he eventually accepted the title that came with it. Word has it the dungeons where Alrik did his nasties is now haunted with ghosts and Fade spirits. Do you remember Hawke mentioning something about the Grand Cleric's child?"

Solona had to think for a moment but nodded slowly, "Vaguely."

"Grace was the name. Apparently she was the mage love-child of Alrik and Callista, taken straight to the Gallows to be raised by her father."

"Oh, that sounds like all sorts of bad ideas…"

The dwarf gave a half-hearted chuckle, "It's the real reason why Hawke let herself be sent to the Gallows. She was quite the meddler back in her time, much like we were just a year ago. At one point, Alrik told Callista that Grace died during her Harrowing, but she didn't believe him. Asked Hawke to look into it, she did, and so Hawke called in a favor and turned herself in to the Gallows."

Varric shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Solona narrowed her eyes, "This favor…"

At this, Varric sighed, "Had I known at the time that Hawke essentially wanted me to frame her for something she didn't do, I would've found some way to get around it. You know I don't appreciate being led around by a string, but her intentions were...noble.

Anyway, long story short… Her gut was telling her that Grace was still alive, and after the one time she found the girl strapped down on a table, she learned that Grace had been force fed pure lyrium dust most of her life, that it was the only thing keeping her alive. Grace was taken away after that, and Alrik caught Hawke snooping around. And well, we know the rest of the story…"

Solona sat silently, her mind drifting back to a rather agonizing conversation she once had with the former Knight-Commander, "Did Alrik really think that severing a mage's soul from her body in order to part the Veil was truly the Maker's will?"

Varric was silent for a long moment before he threw back the rest of his ale, "You know, if Grace were still alive today, she'd be turning ten tomorrow." Solona swallowed. "Hawke has reason to believe that the haunting in the Gallows now is the result of Alrik's abuse of Grace and is with a team investigating the area right now."

"She is long far along now, and she's willing to endanger herself to Fade terrors and whatever else there may be? Is she mad?"

The dwarf blinked, frowning at the inside of his now empty mug, "Uh, possibly, but I've been told that pregnancy can do that to women. There's a lesson to be learned here, Amell...I think."

"Who did she take with her anyway?" Solona huffed in annoyance. Honestly, a Viscountess should know better.

"There were several Tevinter mages who arrived just this morning-"

"That won't be nearly enough," Solona slouched in her seat, "especially with Marian in her condition. ...Sebastian's alright with this?"

Varric laughed, "He's a man, a married man at that. This one, I heard from Donnic: the man is always wrong. I'm pretty sure that the first thing he does in the morning upon waking up is apologize to his wife in anticipation of being wrong that day."

"Hmm," Solona frowned, not quite understanding his joke. "Either way, it would do us some good to get some fresh air. Would you like to accompany me to the Gallows?"

"I always knew Bianca liked you for a reason."

Solona suggested carrying him while she flew out over the water, and Varric answered with an adamant, "Ancestors, _no_!"

Instead they used one of the Underground tunnels, during which Solona discovered that Varric did in fact possess the "stone sense" of his people, and arrived in a cave right beneath the bottom level of the Gallows dungeon. There was a grate that was easily lifted and laid aside as the two hoisted themselves up onto the floor above. Solona could barely see in the low light of the room as well as the shadows under her heavy hood, but she listened and heard voices probably coming from somewhere further down the hall. It was difficult to tell with how well the walls here echoed. That and the dwarf breathed so loudly, he risked getting shot in the dark.[1]

Varric let out a low whistle as he surveyed his surroundings, "I wouldn't want to be caught down here even on its best day...and I'm a dwarf."

Bodiless whispers swept around them, _Leave! Turn back! He will kill you if he finds you, _they seemed to say all at once.

Solona nodded resolutely and strode forward, a pale hand held up and forming a small sphere of magelight. "Amell, any idea which way we're going?"

She shrugged, "I figure that if the voices become more frantic, we might be headed in the right direction."

"Sounds like a plan."

Hoisting Bianca over his shoulder, Varric trudged behind her, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of hostility. Other than the ghostly voices, which did in fact sound more urgent as they continued forward, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The walls of the dungeon shone in the blue light, revealing the age of the stone and evidence of the number of people who have walked its passages in the gleaming surface. Their steps echoed eerily, the two pairs of feet sounding more like fifty.

_Don't come any closer! Don't let him find you! I beg of you, please turn back now!_

"Amell…"

"Don't worry, Varric," Solona turned back to face him, but the dwarf couldn't make out his friend's face under her heavy hood, "it can't hurt us." Varric blinked, wondering how she could be so sure. "I am, however, worried for Marian. If it is the lost spirit of Grace wandering these levels, it is true that Marian may be able to reason with her and guide her back to the Fade. But," her voice lowered, a layer of grief tinting her words, "human spirits are simple, and if they linger here for too long, the mortality of our world taints them, causing them to strike out at anyone and anything without cause."

Varric frowned, not for the first time wondering just what Solona had been through since she'd been gone. She was once bold and stubbornly impulsive, laughter and tears and anger always bringing the most vivid expressions to her face. Now he hardly recognized the woman leading them around the unfamiliar place, her face and body hidden under layers of leather and wool and her emotions, the same emotions she used to wear on her sleeve, now masked behind the bitterness of age and experience.

The dwarf nearly walked into her as she stopped before a door, turning her head to stare at it in consideration. She reached over with the hand that held her light, letting it hover over the iron surface, and Varric's eyes widened as the shadows around the door seemed to suck the life out of her spell, dimming the life of the little ball.

"This was where I was held," Solona said softly, the whisper of her voice blank and cold. "I can feel the void drawing in my magic. I wonder…" She turned to look down the hallway, strengthening the light in her hand before dividing it with the other, and with her opposite hand, she flung the light down the hallway.

Varric gasped, "Ancestor's beard!"

There were doors lining both sides of the hallways, and as the light passed through, the shadowy mist around every door was illuminated, as well as what appeared to be spirits of the dead reaching out from beyond the darkness, desperately grasping at the spelled ball of light. They wailed and moaned in agony as the void drew them back, trapping them once more in the cells that held them. A loud crash sounded from somewhere above, and the stone rumbled ominously in response.

"Five sovereigns and a round of drinks at the Hanged Man says that whatever that was may be key in freeing these poor bastards," Varric said, not quite able to keep the tremble out of his voice. Solona smirked and continued walking, feeling Varric drawing closer behind her as they passed by the other cells. Ghostly limbs reached out to grab at their arms and clothes, each brush passing through their bodies and leaving an unsettling chill in their wake.

_I'm _warning _you to keep _away_!_ The spirit snarled, the sound of her screech echoing harshly in their ears. _He will consume you and trap you as well!_

"Peace, spirit," Solona murmured soothingly, lifting her arms out to her sides in a placating gesture. "I would speak to the one who holds you."

The spirit seemed to pause at that, and Solona felt the cold kiss of undeath against her mind. After a moment of thought, the haunting presence left their side, and at the end of the hallway, a single door seemed to emit a faint glow.

_He took me here, and here I was destroyed. Save her. Please save my Lady Hawke…_

Varric heaved a sigh and released the lock on Bianca's trigger, "I blame you, Amell, for any nightmares I might end up having of this place."

They strode quickly down the rest of the way, and Solona examined the door carefully. The same shadows seeped through the cracks around the frame, and although the lock seemed secure, the hinges were rusty from age and humidity. She frowned and lifted her light to float in the air, thinking of a spell that might be able to bring the door down. Her eyelids fluttered in surprise as a booted foot came around her and slammed it wide open.

"You take too long, Miss Sparkle Fingers," Varric said with a huff. Solona only blinked some more before her shoulders shook with tense laughter.

"Is subtlety not your strongest suit?" she teased.

Varric leveled her with a quirked eyebrow, "Amell, I take great pride in being able to embellish all of my stories. I am too colorful for subtlety."

"_Does it bring more food?_"

Varric froze, "I hope that was your stomach and not what I think it is."

"_I hunger. Always...hunger…_"

"Release your prisoners and return to the Fade," Solona's tone brooked no argument as she stood there, her arms resting at her side but ready to cast at a moment's notice.

"_But this one was given to me, her father promised. I cannot leave…_"

In the soft magelight, a small figure stumbled slowly out of the darkness, thin, bony legs under horrifyingly pronounced hipbones, arms reaching out and wavering, and a face that was not so much a face as it was a bloodless skull with tattered bits of skin and muscle dangling from its ends. There was a soft whimpering nearby, and Solona drew her light higher. Marian Hawke lay against the far wall, her robes showing the clear swell of her belly, a hand raised to shield her eyes from the glow.

"Hawke, are you alright?"

There was a slight cough, but the voice that followed was strong, "Varric, is that you? I-I'm fine. She's been protecting me."

"_You cannot take her from us! We will defeat you and thus prove that we are superior!...But if you join us, we will reward you royally. We know of your deepest desires. Or you may choose to sleep...sleep and forget the world, sleep and forget your spirits our OURS! OURS TO DEFILE, TO CORRUPT! ...to feeeeeeed…_"

"Enough," Solona stated calmly, "I have heard enough. Do not make this difficult. Leave these spirits to rest and return to the Fade." The corpse of Grace clicked her teeth together, and a low demonic hiss sounded around them. "Varric, stick close to Marian," she whispered to him.

The dwarf felt the urge to question the order, but as she drew herself to her full height and reached up to touch the fur of her hood, he thought better of it and stepped away. There was a shock of silver hair that was bound up by a green sash, and as Solona closed her eyes and pressed her palms together before her, touching her lips with the tips of her two index fingers, Varric noticed the lines that had been inked around her wrists, her neck, and the single rune on her forehead. She did not look at all like the Solona he remembered. The air around them swirled with an electrical charge and the strong scent of raw lyrium, as if it came straight from the Fade.

"Fadewalker," Marian murmured. At Varric's questioning look, she explained, "Mages can enter the Fade willingly by coming into contact with pure lyrium. It...the sensation is similar, what Solona is doing, but there's something very strange about it. It's like...it feels as if the Fade is drawn closer now, and Solona stands between our world and the Fade. She's become a gateway of sorts."

Multiple voices screeched from within the undead body as the demons felt the pull and struggled helplessly to resist it. Solona's fingers drifted apart, a dark cloud of energy emerging from between her hands. A shriek of defiance rang through the air as a corporeal mass of demonic power was forced out of Grace and sucked into the summoned portal. Solona's body jerked back in response, but she held her ground. Another demon disappeared followed by a third. At the fourth demon, Solona hissed in clear discomfort, her lips drawn back, revealing tightly clenched teeth. The fifth demon was significantly stronger, likely Pride, and as it was forced into the portal, Solona pitched forward, falling hard on her knees, and coughed up blood. The corpse of Grace crumpled onto the ground instantly.

Solona still held onto the portal, lifting her hands higher, and opening her eyes, which shone bright blue, blazing brighter than Marian's piercing hue, ethereal in its warm glow. "Come," she whispered, and to Varric and Marian's awe and amazement, the spirits that were once trapped within their prisons flew eagerly toward her, sinking into the portal without hesitation. The last was Grace, lifting away from the confines of her rotted corpse, floating around them as a white mist, swirling into the shape of a young girl's face. The spirit brushed against Marian's face before gliding away to touch against Solona's cheek.

_You once saved me from my blood prison and have now released me from my demons. I thank you for your kindness._

Then it was all over, and the Gallows dungeons did not seem as eerie as it did a few moments ago. The Tevinter mages beside Marian rose, groggy as if they just woke up from a terrible nightmare. Solona breathed heavily, bracing herself on her hands and knees. She had never done an exorcism with so many malevolent spirits before, and she wished never to do so again.

"So," Varric's voice echoed loudly, "this new look of yours is...interesting." Solona laughed, an open if not slightly strained laugh that was reminiscent of time not so long ago.

"Neither of you will make mention to Sebastian of how I was nearly enthralled by demons," Marian huffed moodily, standing with a groan as the weight of her belly put renewed pressure on her lower back.

"Not a word, Hawke."

"What demons?"

"Precisely. Now let's go. All this excitement is making me nauseous."

By the time the small group made it out and away from the Gallows, dawn was already peeking out over the horizon. Solona kept her hood drawn up, not wanting to attract the attention of the early market shop owners who were just beginning to set up. They decided to visit Anders first to ensure that the stress hadn't affected Marian's unborn child and also to see that the Tevinter mages didn't suffer any lasting damage. Solona chuckled softly as she realized just where they were going. Trust Anders to take the Amell ancestral home and turn it into a clinic.

The mage himself was right where she expected him to be, passed out at his desk, face and hands stained with ink and the oils from grinding herbs, a little puddle of drool wetting the manuscript he'd no doubt been scratching his research and thoughts on. The sight made Solona's heart ache in memory, even as Marian stepped forward to gently shake him awake. He closed his mouth and rubbed his face, further staining his nose and left eye with ink, and Solona bit her lip to stifle a giggle.

"Yes..wha?" Anders blinked open tired eyes, "Oh, Marian, you made it. Good, Bethany was just about to head out there after you, but...of course that might've been a few hours ago. Perhaps she went to bed instead. Carver is here...somewhere..." he rambled, sitting up in his chair to dispel the haze of sleep. With a sharp shake of his head, he stood up and gestured toward the library, which had been converted into a lounge for his patients.

He examined the accompanying mages first, running diagnostic spells over them to ensure that there was no lingering corruption and no damage beyond a few scrapes and bruises on their bodies. The mages left with several vials of sleeping draught and restorative potions as well as strict orders to rest in order to flush out the rest of their nightmares. Then Anders dimmed the pale blue glow of his hands as he brushed his fingers lightly against Marian's protruding belly.

"His heartbeat is strong," Anders murmured, his eyes closed in focus. After several breaths, he smiled, "and he's awake." Marian gasped as she felt a familiar and gentle push from within, as if the little one was reaching out for the healer's hand. Then she laughed as it seemed like he was rolling around excitedly, and even Solona and Varric noticed, eyes widening when they saw something move around just under her skin.

Anders turned and stared then, as if noticing the cloaked person in the room for the first time. His eyes narrowed as the person shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, and he snorted, "What in the Void did you get yourself into this time?"

Marian blinked in surprise, "You recognize her?"

"Oh, _please_," Anders rolled his eyes, "I'd know that magical signature anywhere. So what did you do? Dabble into blood magic? Make a deal with a Fade spirit? Oh. ….Well, shit." He stood blinking at Solona, who had unclasped her cloak entirely and laid it on the back of the chair Anders recently vacated. The robe she wore beneath looked much like the one Flemeth had when she had come swooping down from the sky the year before. In fact, it looked _exactly _like the one Flemeth wore. "Are you…"

"I am still myself," Solona smiled bitterly as she repressed her memories. _Unlike…_ She did not mention how Morrigan was...not quite the same anymore, not since Flemeth came back for her anyway. She did not mention how once Flemeth had infused her spirit with the younger woman's body, how Morrigan's soul was forced out to wander aimlessly around the Wilds, the weightless burden of being without her mortal vessel driving her to madness. She did not mention any of this. These were her memories and hers alone. "These robes are an inheritance, sort of."

The sound of rapid footsteps rushing down the stairs interrupted them. Bethany and Carver raced around the corner and into the room, their eyes locking on Marian and both persons sighing in relief. It must be a twin thing. "Oh, thank the Maker, you're safe."

Carver then noticed the odd looking person in his peripheral view and turned. "_Shit_!" he gasped, eyes wide, "Uh, I mean..._Maker_!"

"S-Solona?" Bethany whispered, just as shocked.

"What did you _do_?" Anders still hadn't moved, but Solona could see the slight tremble in his fingers before he clenched them into tight fists, and it angered her.

"I _survived_," she snapped in response. "There was only so much even Flemeth could do to sustain me."

Marian frowned, "I don't understand. I had not suffered any lasting debilitations after the things Alrik did to me. Why is it different for you?"

Taking deep, calming breaths, Solona wetted her lips while considering her next words, "What happens when you offer food to a starved animal?"

It was Varric who answered, "They consume every meal afterward like it was their last."

"Alrik only ever drained you of your mana, Marian, and your mana was able to replenish itself after every Smite. He withheld my magic from me so that even when I had the will to cast, even when I felt it tingling along my senses, I could not even touch it," Solona explained. "My worst error was asking Isabela to cut the inhibitor off when I should've asked a templar like Carver or Cullen to first dispel it. I felt the initial rush of power coursing through me, and my body kept craving it. The tide never receded even after I was healed."

"And so?" Varric asked, diligently scribbling notes in a leather journal that he had mysteriously whipped up from nowhere, "What happened next?"

Solona shrugged and smirked, "Old Stoyanka.[2] Her exact words were 'You are an open pathway, but I can make you a door'. Crazy old bat, she was. She did it, though, turned me into a door between here and the Fade. I could probably send Circle mages into the Fade for their Harrowing without exposing them to pure lyrium if I really wanted to.

But here I am, having undergone a rather _painful _ritual of physical and spiritual alterations by the runic inkings of an eccentric Chasind wisewoman to twist your perception between worlds. No doubt your Tevinter companions would have a field day dissecting me."

Anders was resting his chin on his palm, looking her up and down like she was a puzzle he couldn't figure out. Solona lowered her gaze while he remained silent. She certainly hoped everyone would take the information all in stride, the Hawkes' staring at her with mixed expressions of worry, confusion, and compassion and Varric digging a pinky finger in his ear as if he was not bothered at all by this revelation. But it was Anders' reaction she feared the most, the friend she had lived with for the better part of two years and whom she had developed a kinship with. _Please do not judge me…_

The healer hummed, tilting his head to the side as he regarded her. Then he pointed at her arms, which were wrapped in black buckled leather gauntlets, and her legs, covered with similarly buckled leather boots that went as high as the middle of her thigh, "You stole those from Isabela, didn't you?"

"Really, Anders? That's all you have to say?" Solona was floored, "and, yes, last time I saw her was in Antiva where she was looking for an old flame. She didn't approve of the plate armor that came with these robes." She shrugged, remembering how Isabela had shucked her boots and gauntlets and had all but thrown them at her, muttering how Flemeth's plate gear was an insult against good taste. She blinked away the memory and recalled instead the satchel of potions that was still strapped to her side. She handed them to him, hoping the action would clear any lingering tension and awkwardness from the air, "Here, bought them off of Tomwise...for old time's sake."

Anders peeked into the bag curiously before his mouth formed a little "o", "Ooooh...you really shouldn't have. We maintain his stock from up here."

Solona sighed.

Of. Course.

* * *

_A/N: When someone asks you if you're a god, you say YES! Solona Amell, the Gatekeeper. Alright._

_References:_

_1: "The dwarf breathes so loudly; we could've shot him in the dark" - Haldir "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" (movie)_

_2: Old Stoyanka, a Chasind wisewoman living in the Korcari Wilds - Dragon Age Wiki_

_And yes, I'm loosely basing Solona's new appearance off of the DA mage concept art. _


	11. 11: Vivificantem

Kyrie Eleison

Chapter 11 Vivificantem

The Satinalia festivities seemed much more colorful in Starkhaven than it had been the previous year in Kirkwall. But perhaps that was mostly due to the fact that Starkhaven had a significantly cleaner and open atmosphere compared to Kirkwall's mold-stained walls, creeping vines, and of course, the many statues of tormented slaves. Just as there had been in Kirkwall, a performance stage was set up in the Chantry square, and an assortment of talented musicians as actors awed their captive audiences with endless amounts of entertainment.

Cullen wandered about the various foreign market stalls, weaving between and around brilliantly costumed and masked groups of people, and upon seeing a table with a beautiful assortment of hairpins, he sighed wistfully, his fingers reaching up to brush over the pouch at his waist. He felt like such a fool, expecting Solona to magically appear in a strange city simply because it was Satinalia. In fact it was a likely possibility that she was still recovering from the whole ordeal, or that she didn't survive her wounds..._No_, Cullen shook the negative thought away,_ she's too stubborn for that._ Perhaps she had returned to Kirkwall to look for him. Perhaps she expected to find him there, and when she didn't... Bud Varric was still at the Hanged Man, last he checked anyway, and would've known to send her here. For the love of Andraste, why was he even thinking about her now?

His original intention was to monitor the newer recruits and to make sure they followed his orders and stayed out of trouble. With renewed focus, Cullen gazed out at the crowds, noting the guards present at the posts he assigned. He himself was still geared in his Guard-Captain uniform to ensure that his guards remained vigilant and not...fooling...around...

_Maker take you and your wandering eyes, Cormac! _Navigating himself around the crowds so that he stood in the junior guard's line of sight, he sent a stern glare which was met with a shocked and rapidly paling face as Cormac sheepishly excused himself from the company of the young woman he was flirting with and returned to his post. Thankfully none of the other guards seemed inclined to display such acts of foolishness, Guard-Captain present or no. Cullen nodded to himself, satisfied for the time being. It was time to return to his office and arrange...

An audible gasp rang through the crowd, and everyone's attention was immediately drawn to the stage. Cullen followed their gaze, and as he glanced up, he found his breath caught in his throat and his body frozen in place. A single delicate tink of a pair of finger cymbals rang too loudly in his ears, sharpening his focus to a narrow point until nothing existed except the alluring siren before him.

She wore a familiar style of dress with scarves of silk and sin in elegantly dark greens and black, wide wings featherlight and shimmering swaying gracefully as they moved with the strong waves of her arms. The lower half of her face was veiled with a sheer black scarf that had been woven intricately into the silver mass of hair upon her head. She was an image of beauty and seduction as she moved her hips in a way that jerked painfully at his heart.

_It can't be her. She isn't wearing the dragonfly... _Cullen rolled his eyes and mentally kicked himself, _Of course she doesn't have the dragonfly, you idiot!_

There were tattoos everywhere on her body, runes unfamiliar to him that seemed to glow with an internal light, from her forehead to her shoulders, her wrists and the sides of her waist. He could even see the ink that had been marked on her breastbone where the fabric of her dancer's top dipped to show a distracting amount of cleavage. The signs were all there, showing him that this couldn't possibly be Solona. But...he remembered. He saw the flare of her hip as it sashayed from side to side, and he knew just how they would feel as he curved his palm over it. He dreamed every night of holding her, of molding her body to his just as it was meant to be, and as the dancer arched and rounded her back, the images from his dreams flooded through his mind unbidden in amazing detail.

Then she turned her sultry gaze, and he stared into her silver orbs. There was no mistaking those eyes, nor of the way they widened ever so slightly at the sight of him. He barely even stopped to wonder how she managed to single him out within the crowded square. She was here, and he was never letting her go again. Her enrapturing performance ended, and he felt panic lodge in his throat as he lost sight of her when the crowd around him rose and cheered in unison. His feet moved before he even gave the thought, weaving between people as he made his way up to the stage and moving over to the nondescript tents beside it. He wandered around, his eyes darting to and fro, trying to catch any sign of green, black, or silver but saw nothing. His frustration mounted when the next group hindered his movements as they ran past him, some of the larger bodies knocking into his shoulders with jarring impact. There was nothing. She had fled. She saw him, he knew this. But she had left anyway. He gritted his teeth, his lips thinned in frustrated anger and confusion as he began his ascent back toward the Royal Palace, his spirit suddenly overcome with a weariness that ran bone deep and his mind and body no longer in the mood for the day's celebrations.

She was waiting for him in his office, leaning back in his chair, booted feet propped up on his desk as she rifled through a book, her face scrunched in concentration. The set of robes she wore was familiar, but he remembered it being worn by someone else. No matter, she was...here. Cullen blinked, standing dumbly in his own doorway, unused to the tempest of mood changes he had experienced within just the last hour.

"W-what are you doing?" _Nice one, you dolt. Great way to start a conversation with the woman of your dreams whom you haven't seen in, oh, about a year._

Solona closed the book and placed it gently on his desk, leaning back further in her seat as she turned her eyes up to him. He looked so lost, as if he wasn't sure if she was real or just a hallucination. She tilted her head to the side in silent regard. Her mouth opened and shut several times as she considered an appropriate response before her face softened in a gentle smile, and she simply said, "Learning your secrets."

He blinked, "My secrets?"

Solona hummed, picking the book back up and making a show of browsing through its contents, "You seem to have a great deal of books on history, and so far I'm quite enjoying the Legend of Calenhad."

He blinked again, and she sighed hopelessly before swinging her legs off of his desk and landing his chair on all four feet. With the same grace she possessed while caught within her dances, she glided toward him, stepping close enough for him to catch her scent but not close enough to touch her. _Andraste's Grace, _he thought wistfully, and his confusion melted into raw longing.

"I told you I would, did I not?" she whispered, her breath a warm tingle against his dry lips.

She was standing so close to him that he could see the swirl of blue as bright as lyrium tinting her bright grey eyes, and he thought to ask about it, but she was smiling and she smelled wonderful and he really should just kiss her already. So he did.

It was fortunate that his quarters were nearby and that everyone, even the staff, had gone out to join in the holiday merriment. They stumbled awkwardly as she clung to him, his arms bracing her as she hitched herself up, wrapping her long, lean legs around his waist. He found himself taking too long with fumbling at the door handle and ended up kicking it open and closed behind him, his frustration causing Solona to laugh against his shoulder, a laugh which turned into a deep throaty moan as he nibbled at the skin under her ear, selfishly taking of her heat and fire like a starved man.

"_Cullen_…"

A growl ripped from his throat as he tore savagely through the ties of her dress even as her own fingers deftly unbuckled his armor. She soon found herself pressed between his hard, lean body and a soft mattress, the weight of him a comfort that she had sorely missed since they'd been apart. She tangled her legs in his, twisting them around so that she lay on top. Her hair loosened, billowing around them like a soft cloud. She ground her hips against his wantonly, and he hissed a breath even as he undid her breast band, leaning up immediately to suckle on a peaked nipple with fervor.

Curses. He wanted to savor the feel of her against him, to prolong the experience, but his need for her at that moment was near overwhelming. He turned them over again so that she lay beneath him and made quick work of his trousers. Her boots, on the other hand...he had no desire to tackle the buckles and bindings on those monstrosities. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as he slid his fingers into her core, and he groaned as he felt just how wet and hot she was. She whimpered as he drove her higher and higher in ecstasy with his hand alone. Right before she could scream her release, his fingers were suddenly replaced by something much wider and longer, and she shrieked, her body bucking up against his as he drove into her with a single, powerful thrust. He grinned with sheer male pride when she quivered in instant orgasm under him, her breath hitching as he began moving, maddeningly slow first before quickening to a tempo that had Solona tossing her head about wildly on the sheets. On his sheets.

"Cullen," she sobbed as she came again, her small hands fluttering as she clutched at his broad shoulders, her fingernails leaving deep marks as they scored into his flesh.

"I've got you, love," he whispered into her hair, pressing his lips against the rapid beating of her temple, "I'm not letting you go again." She bit her lip as he thrust again, and she raised her hips to meet his, matching his rhythm with every stroke. She was nearing the peak again, and Cullen kissed her neck as she threw her head back, the cries leaving her lips growing louder and louder until everything came crashing down around their senses, her body spasming around him as they came together, sending them both into waves of euphoric satisfaction.

It was still bright outside when he awoke, his body relaxed and his soul for once at ease. Only...Solona was not in the room. Cullen knew for certain that the encounter hadn't been a dream. His dreams never left the lingering scent of Andraste's Grace on his pillows, nor did they leave a neatly penned note on the side table that said:

_In the market.  
-S_

He hurriedly dressed himself, choosing to leave his armor in the room to save time. It was with a light step that he rushed down the Palace steps and jogged toward the Chantry. The crowds were still there, and the performances still carried on. It was by all accounts exactly as he had left it this morning, except that the guards had exchanged shifts about an hour earlier. Cullen scanned the square, his eyes searching among the colorful stalls until he found...there.

Solona was tapping her chin thoughtfully, ignoring the people nearby who openly gawked at her outlandish appearance. It was not likely that she'd ever see the same people again; so she did not let the attention bother her. Her eyes were drawn to the hair pieces on display, and the merchant was not-so helpfully babbling along about how this butterfly piece was worn by Queen Madrigal herself and how well those ostrich feathers complemented her complexion. She gingerly picked up a gold piece of a crow in flight, the light of her eyes dimming slightly. She sighed and gestured to the trinket, ready to ask the price for it when a voice behind her inquired for her.

"How much for it?"

Fifty silvers. It was ridiculously overpriced. Solona ran her fingers over the detail of the bird's wing feathers. Her eyes glistened against her will, and she blinked rapidly to shake off her dark mood as she lowered the hairpin back into the display case.

Cullen handed the merchant a whole sovereign, and Solona turned to protest but was cut off sharply by the finger pressed against her lips and the roguish smirk on his face. As he removed his hand, but only after letting it linger for a moment longer, Solona bowed her head respectfully, "_Guard_-Captain."

His smirk widened, "Just Cullen for today, lady."

They browsed around the shops a little longer, looking very much like a love struck couple walking with her arm linked in his. He had not questioned the significance of the crow piece, but upon seeing the sorrow in her face as she had turned it in her fingers, he recalled seeing the other mage, Morrigan, taking its form. Something must've happened, but he would not press Solona for the details, not until she was ready to share her tale. Given her drastic change in appearance...those runes on her skin especially, along with her long silver locks and eyes that appeared as windows into the very depths of the Fade...though Cullen feared to hear the truth, to know the difficulties she had overcome in order to be here with him today, she certainly must have quite the tale. But they had time, and he wasn't planning on going anywhere in search of her...not anymore anyway.

His fingers found their way up to the pouch that still hung from his belt and he smiled fondly, reaching in to withdraw the dragonfly hair piece that was kept there. He never figured out why he did it. After the battle was over and Solona was born away by the red scaled dragon, Cullen had found his feet moving in the direction of the Gallows, and once he was there, he had felt drawn to the dungeons...as dark and uninviting as they were. There had been the oddest sensation of an insistent tug and an easy compulsion to follow wherever it led. The cell looked no different from the others, but somehow he had known it was hers. He had entered the prison, the door easily giving way, and in the dim light of the torch he had carried, he saw it. It was certainly in poor shape, bent at odd angles with strands of what was once dark, lustrous hair that had been cruelly hacked off twisted around the pieces of metal and bits of chipped gemstones.

He had taken the damaged trinket and left, immediately setting out looking for a jeweler to reshape the wiring, reset the stones, and replace the bent pins with new ones. Now there was only one thing left to do, the one thing he had waited nearly an entire year to do…

"Solona."

She turned, the smile on her face bright enough to send his heartbeat racing. He touched her cheek, brushing his hand back into her hair before reaching up with his other hand and sliding the dragonfly in place. She blinked at him, tilting her head and parting her lips in puzzlement as she reached up with her own hand. Her eyes widened in surprise as she traced the familiar outline of the dragonfly hairpin with the pads of her fingers, the dragonfly that he had undoubtedly saved for her return, just as she had driven herself to survive and endure this past year to return to him. She cast her eyes up at him only to find him smirking roguishly at her again.

With a wicked glint in her eye, she pulled him down by his collar and mashed her lips against his. It mattered little the price she had paid to keep her life and her humanity. It mattered little that there was no flash of lightning or sudden poetic enlightenment at their joining. They had endured, despite the odds, through the seemingly endless turmoil of the previous year, and now they had a chance for themselves.

And in that moment, she swore to herself that they would create their own future, one that would be filled with hope and perhaps, possibly...even love.

End

* * *

_A/N: The madness has ended! Here's to completing my first multichaptered epic fanfiction...thing. And this is where I say that, though I have once upon a time considered writing original fiction, I'm pretty sure I've committed enough copyright infractions within this story alone to ever think of going original. So, whee!_

_Back to drabbles and one shots...at least, until another epic idea runs me over, which...there is one in progress, but it's being exceptionally difficult._

_To everyone who gave their support in reviews, favorites, and follows, I love you all. You have no idea how stoked I was whenever I got a notification email. You guys made my days awesome._

_It's been real! Cheers!_


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